


And if it begins anywhere, it begins here

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Angst, Drawings, Epistolary, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Multimedia Fic, Parallel Universes, Post S4, Texting, no tfp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-03-28 07:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 26,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13898985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: When Sherlock finds a letter in his bedroom, he doesn't expect to read the words of another version of himself from a parallel universe.What he expects even less is to read Sherlock Watson-Holmes at the bottom of the letter.





	1. January 20th, 2016

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I'm back for a new fic, the first I'm posting in 2018. I have already a few chapters written, and it's the first time I try this kind of story. I hope you'll like this universe just as much as I'm enjoying writing it. 
> 
> I'll probably be posting a chapter every day, so don't go too far :)
> 
> Love,  
> Pauline.
> 
>  
> 
> thank you to xtina for looking over this fic for me <3

_\- Letter found under a lath in Sherlock’s bedroom, the name_ _**Sherlock** is written on the envelope -_

 

Sherlock,

I know you’ve already recognized it, so I’m simply going to get it out of the way now: yes, this is your handwriting. I, the person who’s currently writing this letter, am you. Only, I am a different you, from a different place or let’s say, universe.

Before you decide to throw this letter in the trash, because I know that’s what I would have done in your place, allow me to prove to you my identity. For starters, who else would have known you’ll notice the sudden cracking lath on your floor and immediately search for something underneath? Who else would have known that’s where you used to hide your secrets all those years ago?

But we both know any particular event in our life can’t be received as evidence, anyone could have somehow found out any of our secrets one way or another. So I’m not going to dig into our childhood and the days we spent hidden in the attic reading about pirates and adventures, or talk about the night we tried to run away only to come back home two hours later without anyone noticing.

No, to prove I am indeed Sherlock Holmes, I’m going to talk to you about John.

I’m going to talk to you about January 30th 2010, or more precisely about the night you spent lying awake in bed. That was the night you considered doing something stupid, or so you thought. That was the night you wondered what John would say if you showed up at his door and just said, _You’re right, it’s all fine. Can I come in?_ That was the night you worried if he would move in with you, if he would like you, if he would stay. That was the night you let yourself imagine what could have happened. If John would have kissed you after dinner, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins and the memory of the man he just killed to save you still so very clear in both of your minds.

That was the night you realised John Watson had just upset your entire world.

That was the night you realised you were perfectly alright with it.

Only you, Sherlock, can know what went through your head that night. The same train of thought kept me awake too, all those years ago. But it appears that the events of the day that followed differed in each of our reality.

You can choose to believe me or not, and I’m going to give you the time I know I would have needed to make a decision before sending another letter. I promise to explain all there is to understand then. But before you make up your mind, let me tell you the only reason I choose to write this letter in the first place.

It’s quite simple in fact. You (we) deserve to be happy, Sherlock.

I know I am.

Are you?

Sherlock Watson-Holmes,

_Sussex, Yellow Garden,_

_June 10th, 2045._


	2. January 20th, 2016

Sherlock reaches for a new journal from the ones still sitting on the floor without looking away from the letter. His fingers stroke the hard cover absently for a long moment, deducing the color (blue) and failing to open it twice. When he finally manages to tear his eyes away from the too familiar handwriting, he takes out the pen in his dressing gown pocket, head slightly spinning.

He looks down at the first page, blank, waiting for the usual observation he fills in each and every one of his journals. But this time Sherlock finds himself at a loss for words. He knows what he should be writing, knows what he should have done with the letter already, and yet…

He stares at the lines, back to the letter and the journal again. His hand is shaking when he presses pen to paper, and the first word makes it all worse somehow.

Cons:

  * I did not write this letter.
  * Different universes do not exist.
  * Anyone can imitate one’s handwriting.
  * A letter is in no way any evidence for anything.
  * You can’t write to someone from the future.
  * It makes no sense.
  * It makes no sense.
  * It makes no sense.



Sherlock stares and stares, unable to move, not sure he’s breathing anymore, and finally allows himself to close his eyes and breathe out. Even after just reading the letter twice, he can recite each word with a strange precision. _It doesn’t make sense,_ he whispers to the silent room. _It doesn’t make sense_.

And yet.

Pros:

  * How could anyone else know?
  * ~~He sign-~~
  * ~~He signed Sherlock Watson-Holmes. Does it mean we are mar-~~



 

Sherlock puts down the pen abruptly, standing up. He doesn’t let himself read over what he wrote, not just yet, and abandons both the letter and the journal on his bedroom floor. The room is quiet, too quiet, and refusing to over think _any_ of it, he puts on his coat and walks out of the flat.


	3. January 20th, 2016

**-** _Texts thread with John_ _-_

 

**typing….**

_I’ve received a lett-_

**typing….**

_I don’t know what to think, what to dedu-_

**typing….**

_Are you free to talk?_

**typing…**

_It’s insane, it can’t be real, it can’t be._

**typing…**

_I think we’re married, John. This other me, I think he’s married. To you._

**typing…**

_Are you there?_

**sent /** 13:10

How is Rosie today? Still feverish?

 **received /** 13:12

She’s a bit better, the meds helped. She’s been sleeping, a lot.

 **sent /** 13:12

That’s good.

 **received /** 13:13

Still not feeling sick yourself? Manage to make it through?

 **sent /** 13:14

I’ve only seen her once while she was sick, John. I’m fine.

 **sent /** 13:14

What about you? Are you alright?

 **received /** 13:16

I’m fine, yes, the perks of being a doctor I guess.

 **received /** 13:15

She’s waking up, better go check on her. I’ll talk to you later.

 **sent /** 13:16

Tell her I say hello.

**typing…**

_When’s later?_

**typing…**

_Can you imagine it?_

**typing…**

_Us. Married._

**typing…**

_Can you?_


	4. January 21st, 2016

\- _Text thread with Mycroft Holmes_ _-_

 

 **sent /** 02:34

I need you to do something for me, without questions.

 **received /** 02:34

I don’t recall owing you any favor, brother mine.

 **sent /** 02:35

Then I’ll owe you one. Don’t be boring.

 **received /** 02:35

What is it you wish me to do?

 **sent /** 02:35

No questions.

 **received /** 02:35

Yes, Sherlock. No questions.

 **sent /** 02:36

I have a letter I need your men to authenticate.

 **received /** 02:36

When can I retrieve this letter?

 **sent /** 02:36

Ten minutes.

 **received /** 02:37

Someone will be there.


	5. January 21st, 2016

_\- Analysis Rapport on evidence #4536 -_

Date: January 17th, 2016

Time: 11:09:32

Rapport: #4536-8732B

Destined to **:** Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street, London.

 

**C O N F I D E N T I A L**

 

The evidence consist of a letter, white paper, blue ink.

One page.

Recto.

498 words.

_Paper analysis_

Chemical composition of the paper used: C6nH12nO6n

Informations on the ink used **:** elements unknown found.

The paper was made industrially, Fourdrinier machine (most commonly used). No current ways of linking this particular piece of paper to any industries in the city, country or world.

The formula for the ink is known except for two elements.

_Handwriting analysis_

The pressure of strokes is average, indicating calm and good perception. The slant of the strokes remains mostly straight, indicating a will to keep emotions at bay, to be as efficient as possible. The spacing between the letters indicates clear thinking and organisation.

Based on the inclination of the O, R and L, the writer is male.

Match found:

97%, Sherlock Holmes, male, 36.

2%, Anton Smirk, male, 57

_Content analysis_

**Asked not to be analysed.**

Governmental Laboratory,

Location _classified._

 

 

_Attached note :_

_This is ridiculous Sherlock, even you must see it. Best to forget about it all. I still have a case for you, so stop behaving like a child and do accept it. MH_


	6. January 21st, 2016

**__** _\- Sherlock’s blue journal, first page -_

 

03:08

What is the most ~~illogical~~ surprising fact, receiving a letter from another version of myself, or that other version of myself is married to John?

09:35

~~Could be someone else named Watson.~~ Why would I marry someone else named Watson, this is stupid.

10:21

Further Internet researches turned out unproductive, as expected. There is no such thing as parallel universes. No such thing.

11:56

How can it be my handwriting? How can it be my handwriting? How can it b-

11:59

How?

14:45

Anton Smirk is boring, ordinary and a compulsive cheat. He has no reason (no reason at all) to play this game on me. 

16:02

Is he really married to John? Is there really a universe out there where it can happen?

22:38

~~Why him and not me? Why does he get to marry John when I can’t? Have I done something wrong? Does it mean I stood a chance? Does it mean I missed it?~~


	7. January 22nd, 2016

_\- Text thread with Gregory Lestrade -_

**received /** 09:34

Just got an interesting case, do you want in?

 **sent /** 09:34

Where?

 **received /** 09:35

We can meet at the Yard and go together, there’s still some paperwork to do. John’s with you?

 **sent /** 09:35

He’s busy. Text me when you’re at the crime scene.

 **received /** 09:36

It seems like it’s been a while since you two worked a case. Everything alright?

 **sent /** 09:36

Fine. Address?

 **received /** 09:36

76 Fann Street, we won’t be there until 15 minutes or so.

 **sent /** 09:36

I’ll be there.


	8. January 22nd, 2016

**__** _\- Sherlock’s red journal, twenty-fourth page -_

18:41

Case solved. Lestrade was right, it was an interesting one. 7/10. John would have loved it, just the right amount of clues and mysteries at the same time. 

Man found dead in his locked bedroom. No windows, one door. 

One message on the wall, written with the victim’s blood, _He deserved it_.

No murder weapon on the crime scene.

No signs of breaking in.

The motive was obvious from the start: revenge. If the message wasn’t clear enough, the lacerations on the victim’s chest made it quite clear. Partner or mistress, someone close enough to the victim to feel this angry and react in such a way. John would have noticed the patterns in the victim’s cuts immediately, each of them carefully placed over each internal organ. Not deep enough to kill the victim, but the intention was rather obvious. 

Revenge, torture and a locked door. Brilliant. ~~Even more if John had be-~~

The victim was divorced, his ex-wife remarried, happy and most of all, living across the Atlantic Ocean. No close family, not many friends, no relationship known to his neighbors. 

John would have probably pitied him, or tried to understand how a man can be tortured in his own flat and no one found him until the smell was bad enough to pass through walls. _Poor guy_ , he would have murmured, shaking his head and rubbing a hand on his nape (he does so whenever he’s feeling compassionate with another human being). 

It took over three hours from the moment I noticed the almost too-faded footprint near the north wall and the moment one of Lestrade’s men informed us the man had an illegitimate son. A rather disappointing end to a promising case. It was then only a matter of connecting the clues, facts and times together. 

Lestrade managed to only asked twice about John. I didn’t reply. ~~I’m not even sure what I could have said anyway.~~


	9. January 23rd, 2016

_\- Sherlock’s Internet History, laptop,_

_between January 20th and January 23rd -_

 

**Today - Tuesday, January 23rd**

_________________________________________________________________________

02:02 The blog of Dr. John. H. Watson. http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk

 

 

**Yesterday - Monday, January 22nd**

_________________________________________________________________________

00:35 Google Sherlock Watson-Holmes - Google search www.google.co.uk

00:34 Google www.google.co.uk

 

 

**Two days ago - Sunday, January 21st**

_________________________________________________________________________

10:19 The Theory of Parallel Universes - dummies www.dummies.com

10:18 NGS Garden open for Charity - Visit Sussex Gardens www.ngs.org.uk

10:18 Google Sussex, Yellow Garden address - Google search www.google.co.uk

10:17 Google Sussex, Yellow Garden - Google search www.google.co.uk

10:17 Google www.google.co.uk

 

 

**Three days ago - Saturday, January 20th**

_________________________________________________________________________

12:47 Is This Evidence of A Parallel Universe? - Youtube www.youtube.com

12:35 Is there another you out there in a parallel universe www.forbes.com

12:29 Parallel Universes: Theories and Evidence www.space.com

12:15 Parallel Universe (fiction) - Wikipedia en.wikipedia.org

12:09 Google Parallel Universe - Google search www.google.co.uk

12:09 Google www.google.co.uk


	10. January 24th, 2016

_\- Text thread with John Watson_ _-_

**received /** 10:18

I’m going out with Rosie and thought I could come by. Are you home?

**typing…**

_Really, John? Three days without speaking to each other and you jus-_

**typing…**

_Is this what we are now?_

**sent /** 10:19

Home and bored.

 **received /** 10:19

Not that surprising. We can be here in ten minutes, if that’s alright with you.

**typing…**

_Why are you so careful these days?_

**typing…**

_What kind of question is that? When hasn’t it been alright with me?_

**sent /** 10:20

Of course. I take it she’s feeling better.

 **received /** 10:21

Much, yes. We were going crazy staying inside.

**typing…**

_You could have come here. I wouldn’t have minded._

**typing…**

_You know I wouldn't have minded, right?_

**sent /** 10:21

I can meet you at the park, if you prefer.

 **received /** 10:23

That would be great, yes.

 **sent /** 10:24

Leaving now. The usual spot?

 **received /** 10:25

We’ll wait there, yes.

**typing…**

_You could still spend the afternoon here, we could walk back home afterwa-_

**typing…**

_Six days without you here is too long._

**sent /** 10:26

Mrs. Hudson asked about Rosie, maybe you can still come by Baker Street afterwards.

 **received /** 10:28

Sure, yes. We could stay for lunch if you want.

 **sent /** 10:28

I could use some food, yes.

 **received /** 10:29

Please tell me you’ve remembered to eat.

 **sent /** 10:30

Can’t promise anything.

 **received /** 10:31

We’re definitely staying for lunch, then.

**typing…**

_You could stay for dinner too._

**sent /** 10:32

Getting to the park now, I can see you both.

**typing…**

_I missed you. Please, don’t leave again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve been thinking of doing Interlude chapters where it’s not epistolary, here and there, what do you think?
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos, they make my day every time :)


	11. January 24th, 2016

_\- Sherlock’s green journal, thirty-seventh page -_

John was tired. I could read it all over him. He barely met my eyes for the entire time we were together, but it didn’t matter. I could see the exhaustion in his movements, in the lines around his eyes, in the tone of his voice.

It could be due to Rosie’s recent state of health, but then John is used to dealing with sick patients all the time. But his patients do not sleep at his home and wake him up in the middle of the night. Still, it isn’t the first time Rosie is sick. Shouldn’t he be used to it by now?

Rosie seemed fine. She laughed, a lot, and most of the time when John is the one making her laugh. She loves him, that much is obvious. He loves her too, of course. What wouldn’t he? She’s a beautiful baby, even I cannot deny it.

She has most of Mary’s features, but all behaviour, she takes from John. That’s for the best, I think. We never talked about it (we barely talk anymore) but John never mentions Mary to her, or at least not when I’m with them. Is he trying to avoid the subject because of me? Does he still resent me? Is it why he’s drifting away?

At least he stayed for lunch. It was almost just like it used to be.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your replies, I'll definitely will be doing some interludes!
> 
> Now you get to decide: John or Sherlock POV for the first one?


	12. January 25th, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explanation for the parallel universes in this chapter comes directly from my own non-scientific brain.

\- Letters found under a lath in Sherlock’s bedroom, the name

_**Sherlock** is written on one enveloppe, **John** on the other -_

Sherlock,

Let’s begin this letter with what you’ve probably been obsessing about since the first one (don’t try to deny it, I would have too): yes, I’m married to John Watson. We’ve been married for twenty-seven years now, but I’m not here to talk about that.

We’ve been told not to say too much, not to reveal anything too significant about our universe, but we both know we’ve never been good with rules. John made me promise not to give you all the details of our life, and to be honest with you, it would require too many letters anyway.

But I promised to explain everything, so let me start with that.

In my universe, in the year 2037, a group of scientist found out how to make contact with other universes. Astronauts found a gap in space during a mission; not exactly a black hole but close. It allowed them to go through time and space, and within four years they found the first parallel universe to ours. It then only took a few months to find more and more.

The mere notion of “parallel universes” was unknown to me before that, but John said he had read many books about these other realities as a teenager, and he seemed quite thrilled about the discovery. As you can expect, soon organisations all over the world were offering to find out about all the other universes you exist in. John and I stayed away from all of them at first, neither of us caring much about some other version of ourselves. Eventually something changed our mind, but we’ll talk about that later.

Short version: there are four different universes where we, you and I, exist.

There is my reality, yours, and two more.

I’m planning on talking about each one in my future letters. That way you can choose to ignore them if you want to, or read them all to discover the life you live in some other part of the universe. I must confess I didn’t understand the purpose of any of it, these other versions of myself were completely different from me. We share some memories but that’s all. We each made our own choices and they influenced our life one way or another. And yet here I am, writing to you. What can you deduce about that?

John asked that you give the second envelope to the John Watson you know. He also asked that you do not read it. I trust that you won’t.

Sherlock Watson-Holmes,

_Sussex, Yellow Garden,_

_June 15th, 2045._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So John's POV won, so I'll try to make chapter 15 his POV because you'll see, it'll fit perfectly there!


	13. January 25th, 2016

_\- Sherlock’s blue journal, second page -_

09:43

_What can you deduce about that_?

Am I supposed to know the reason why he’s writing to me just because we are the same person? Is it how it work then? We share some kind of connection, and I'm supposed to understand everything he implies just because he's  _me?_

This is ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous even. Why am I even putting that much energy into this nonsense?

I should have listen to Mycroft. Just the fact that I'm writing this down is the only proof I need that I'm going out of my mind with all this. Alternate universes do not exist. No matter the facts, no matter the inconstances. This Sherlock Watson-Holmes can't do anything to  _improve_ the situation. 

Absolutely nothing can.

11:57

I could read John’s letter.

He would never know.

I could just read his l-

16:02

He said four.

Four different universe where John and I exist. And he knows about them all. He's observed them all, maybe even contact them all. 

And I just "can choose to ignore them" if I want to. He is an idiot? Am I an idiot in all those universes? 

23:21

I have to tell him, haven’t I?


	14. January 26th, 2016

_\- E-mail thread with John Watson -_

From: s.holmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk- **9:03, 26 Jan.**

To: j.h.watson@email.co.uk

Subject: Urgent

John,

The strangest thing has happened to me in the past few days, and it seems I can’t keep it to myself any longer. Please, do try to understand before thinking I’ve lost my mind. 

Six days ago, a version of myself from a different universe sent me a letter. Well, I say sent… I found it under a lath in my bedroom. Still, I had it expertised and there isn’t any doubt, the handwriting is mine. Plus this other me proved himself, and despite everything I ever believed in, this is truly happening. 

Another letter came yesterday. This time there’s a second one, for you. I understand if you don’t want to hear about it; I nearly gave up myself. But you know me, curiosity has always been a default of mine. 

I hope you and Rosie are well,

Sherlock. 

 

From: s.holmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk- **09:13, 26 Jan.**

To: j.h.watson@email.co.uk

Subject: (no subject)

I shouldn’t have sent you this email. I shouldn’t, I-


	15. Interlude One : John

_\- January 26th, 2016 -_

 

John’s day begins just like every other day.

He keeps his eyes closed, listening to Rosie’s rambling in the other room, and the faint sound of cars passing down the street. He allows himself a second more, just enough time to prepare himself for everything that is not going to happen today. Just a second more to let it all sink in, again. He should be used to it now, after months of waking up alone in this very same bed, but he can’t help but feel the knot in his chest expand and expand to a point where even breathing becomes unbearable.

But he pushes the cover down the bed, rolls over and gets up without glancing at his phone. He doesn’t think about picking it up once while getting through his routine, avoiding his own eyes in the mirror and going to fetch Rosie before she starts crying.

“Good morning sweetheart,” he smiles as soon as he sees her. “Time to get up.” Rosie reaches for his shirt immediately, tugging a few times, still rambling. “I know, breakfast.”

He walks past his bedroom door, eyes fixed on the kitchen table, certain he could do it this morning, could just ignore it and just have one normal day. But there is a hole in his chest, ever expanding, and without bothering to repress a sigh, he goes back in, directly for the night stand. He checks, because really, who is he kidding, and it almost doesn’t hurt when Rosie’s picture appears on the screen. Just her picture.

He shoves it in his pocket and heads back for the kitchen, placing Rosie in her chair and, finally, making himself busy. “Alright, what’s for you this morning?”

She mumbles back, playing with her favorite toy, and John contemplates going out. Just getting away from these grey walls and doing something, - anything. He should just walk over there, put Rosie in her stroller and go. Just bloody go and deal with this once and for a-

The ringtone echoing makes him jump. He almost drops Rosie’s bottle as he hurries to get it, breath short until he catches the name on the screen. He swallows back disappointment and picks up, “Greg, hi.”

“John, I thought you’d be awake!”

“Guessed right!”

“I’m at your door with coffee,” Greg says, his smile obvious, “Open up.”

Without giving him time to reply Greg hangs up, and John can’t help but laugh as he walks to the door and greets the way too cheerful DI behind it, “Good morning!”

“Seems like one, yes,” John replies, accepting the coffee and letting him in. “You were in the neighborhood?”

“Not really,” Greg says, walking to the kitchen and rubbing Rosie’s hair slowly, “But I had a day off and I thought I’d come see you. It’s been a while.”

“I know,” John replies, barely holding back a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Greg smiles, eyes roaming all over his face, and John busies himself with toast and jam. He hears Greg taking off his coat and sitting down, “I’m barely seeing Sherlock too.”

John holds back all the questions rushing to his head, and settles for the easy one: “Cases too boring for him?”

Greg laughs, “Probably right, it’s become harder to read him - as if it was easy in the first place. Are the two of you still talking?”

“We are,” John says, almost defensively, and immediately regrets it.

“I mean,” Greg continues, “actually talking?”

John takes the time to sit, glancing at his phone on the table, and replying as calmly as he can, “When have we ever?”

Greg nods, taking a sip of his coffee and watching him in silence for a long moment.

And he hates this, hates that he’s become this, barely able to talk about Sherlock bloody Holmes without feeling hollow and on the verge of either bursting into screams or tears.

“Right,” Greg replies carefully, “But with everything that happened, maybe you should.”

John doesn’t reply, not sure which words would come out of his mouth if he did, and Greg seems to get it. He turns to Rosie, asking her about her toy, and John thanks him silently. His eyes find his phone again, fingers drumming on the table. He only has to pick it up, just pick it up.

“I consider you my friend, John.”

John looks up sharply, finding Greg’s eyes on him and reading the worry there.

“I hate that I didn’t manage to be there after Sherlock… went away, and I don’t want to make the same mistake now.”

John watches as he inhales deeply, his own breath coming short at the mere mention of _that_ time.

“The two of you,” Greg continues, almost daring him to say something now, “you are good for each other. No matter what people say about him or about you, you truly are good for each other.”

“Wha-” John begins before choking on words. “You-”

“I know it’s probably not my place to say, but hell, maybe it is, so there’s that.”

John wants him gone. Now. He wants him to shut his mouth and walk out of this flat. He doesn’t say anything, painfully aware of how close his phone is right now.

“It’s just that- Christ, it’s just that I actually think there is a point when it becomes too late,” Greg sighs, and for just a second, John sees him as he really is: _a friend_. “And I’d hate for you two to pass that point and not even realise it.”

John doesn’t say a word when he gets up, puts his coat back on and kisses Rosie softly, “I’ll let myself out. I’m sorry to have dropped this all on you like this. I had practiced something a bit more… nice, but yeah.”

They stare at each other in silence, and when Greg does leave, John finds himself wishing he hadn’t. Even Rosie has stopped mumbling, chewing on her toy and watching him. Strangely, everything seems to slow down as he phone beeps with a new mail, and when John finally, _finally_ , finds Sherlock’s name and hits dial, everything is a bloody mess all over again.

 


	16. January 26th, 2016

_\- Phone call transcript_ _-_

**DATE** : 01/26/16

 **TIME** : 09:22 A.M

 **DURATION** : 12 minutes 18 seconds.

 **INCOMING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX32

 **RECEIVING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX67

XX67: ( _quiet_ ) John?

XX32: Are you using again? I swear to God, Sherlock, if you’re back to tak-

XX67: I’m not using, John.

XX32: ( _sighing_ ) Then what the fuck was that email about?

XX67: I- ( _hesitant_ ) I was telling the truth, John.

XX32: So you just expect me to believe you got a letter, no wait, TWO letters from another Sherlock in some other universe. ( _Laughs_ ) This is insane, Sherlock. Even you must see it.

XX67: I received the first letter six days ago, John, what do you think I did for all that time? ( _Getting angry_ ) It’s illogical, it defies every law of nature, and yet it’s happening. Sherlo- This other me knows things, John, things I never told anyone. Things no one could know expect if they can read minds. I haven’t slept for days, trying to make sense of this!

( _silence - 12 seconds_ )

XX32: You can’t be serious, Sherlock, you can’t just… Christ.

XX67: I said you didn’t have to read the letter, John. I meant it.

XX32: I just can’t ignore this, Sherlock. Clearly, you didn’t either.

XX67: From a scientific point of view, this is rather extraordinary, John.

XX32: ( _sighing_ ) I can’t believe I’m having a conversation about parallel universes with you.

XX67: If it reassures you, I can’t either.

XX32: This other She- you, what does he say?

XX67: He’s not only writing from another universe, John, but from the future too. ( _loud sigh_ ) He explained that scientist and astronauts found an anomaly in space and manage to make contact with other realities. Apparently, people can now talk to their other self thanks to organisations. I take it this other me, and you, did just that.

XX32: That’s a lot to take in. And why did they? Make contact, I mean.

( _silence - 7 seconds_ ).

XX67: I don’t know, John. I don’t know.

XX32: And there’s a letter for me? From another version of myself?

XX67: Yes.

( _silence - 3 seconds_ )

XX67: Do you want to read it?

XX32: ( _sighing_ ) I think so, yes. I can drop by around noon, if that’s alright with you.

XX67: I’ll be there.

( _silence - 9 seconds_ )

XX32: Are you certain about this?

XX67: I’m not certain of anything when it comes to these letters, John.

XX32: Yeah. Right. Noon, then?

XX67: Noon.

XX32: I won’t be able to stay, Rosie has a pediatric appointment.

XX67: That’s fine.

XX32: I’ll see you then. Bye.

XX67: Goodbye, John.

**\- CALL ENDED -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter marks the beginning of John’s POV in this story. From now on, there will be more chapters focused on him and his reactions to the letters.
> 
> Thank you again for all the kudos and comments!!


	17. January 26th, 2016

_\- Text thread with John Watson_ _-_

**typing…**

_Have you read it?_

**typing…**

_What does it say? How does he sound, this other John?_

**typing…**

_Did he explain?_

**typing…**

_Did he tell you that we’re married?_

**typing…**

_Did he talk about the other me?_

**typing…**

_Did he tell you they’ve loved each other for more than twenty-seven years now?_

**typing…**

_Does it scare you? Make it hard to think? To breathe?_


	18. January 26th, 2016

 - Sherlock’s blue journal, second page -

I found a picture under the lath. The other me said it was probably the proof I’ve been waiting for this entire time. He’s right, obviously.

I haven’t been able to stop staring at it for the past few hours? Minutes? I’m not even sure anymore. Has reality always been this flexible? I stare at this picture and I can’t help but deduce all there is to see.

This Sherlock is in love.

It’s written all over his - my - face. It’s in the way I’m looking at him, this other John lying in bed, next to me, wrapped around me. I’m smiling, a smile I can’t remember having ever seen on my lips before, and it doesn’t take my mind palace to understand the reason why. Is it the feeling of John’s lips on my neck that brought such a smile to exist? Or is it the mere fact of sharing a bed with him, sharing a moment like the one this photograph froze in time?

How am I the one taking this picture? Did John convince me?

He would have, could have. This John is just as happy, just as… in love. And it’s not logical because I’ve seen John in love, I’ve seen him smile and dance on his wedding day. I’ve seen John Watson happy before, and yet-

No.

I’m obviously an idiot thinking that sending this picture would make it easier.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the artist ](https://artsherlocked.tumblr.com/) we all have to thank for this brilliant drawing!!


	19. January 27th, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the chapter you all be waiting for!

\- Letter read in the middle of the night -

John,

As crazy as it sounds, it’s truly me, John Watson, writing this letter. I still can’t wrap my head around the concept to be honest, and just writing down these few words makes me feel like a complete idiot. What am I supposed to say anyway, since you can’t even reply? In a way, my Sherlock is handling this situation in a much better way than I am. He was the one who called me an idiot when I offered to contact the both of you, and now he’s constantly writing a new letter. But then he’s always been like this, passionate in everything he does, and isn’t it why we love him?

Actually, that’s exactly why I wanted to write this letter; because we love him.

My Sherlock has a complete different purpose than me when he writes his letters, and maybe that’s for the best. You and your Sherlock don’t need to be told the same things - not yet anyway.

You and I might live in two complete different universes, but there isn’t a version of myself out there who can know Sherlock and not love him. I can say without a hint of hesitation that I was meant to love this man, in every world, in every story. He’s the only reason I am still alive today, and the only reason you are too. Don’t try to deny it. From the moment we met him, this mad but brilliant man, he became our world.

I accepted it, a (very) long time ago, and it still is the best decision I have ever made.

I’m going to continue writing these letters, and each time, I’m going to reveal just a bit about my world. I’m hoping it will help you learn more about yourself.

I’m attaching a photo to this letter. This is what I wake up to every morning.

Don’t you think it’s worth fighting for?

John Watson-Holmes

_Sussex, Yellow Garden,_

_February 15th, 2045_


	20. January 27th, 2016

_I’m attaching a photo to this letter. This is what I wake up to every morning. Don’t you think it’s worth fighting for?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the artist ](https://artsherlocked.tumblr.com/) we all have to thank for this brilliant drawing!!


	21. January 27th, 2016

\- John’s private blog -

**← Previous post - “Six fucking days.”**

Title: Is is supposed to be a joke?

Date: 02/27/2016 - 03:23 am.

 

How can this be happening? How can this letter even be real?

Someone has to be taking the piss?!

It just doesn’t make any sense!

This- This John Watson who pretends that I can fucking exist without Sherlock Holmes! Who does he think he is?!

To hell with him and his unconditional love and damn picture!

I don’t have the time or the energy for this, for God’s sake!

 

EDIT    -    DELETE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, John reacts the only way he can, but don’t worry, it’ll get better !
> 
> Also, some of you have been wondering about the colors of Sherlock’s journals.... who has figured them out??


	22. January 27th, 2016

_\- Text thread with Sherlock Holmes_ _-_

**typing…**

_Are you absolutely certain these are real?_

**typing…**

_One hundred percent certain?_

**typing…**

_What this John said, what he implied…_

**typing…**

_I’m not sure if I can-_

**typing…**

_He wrote “your Sherlock”, but I’m not- You were never mine..._

**typing…**

_There was a picture, a fucking picture of you sleeping and you’re so beautifu- fuck._

**typing…**

_What does he want from me?_


	23. January 27th, 2016

\- Email thread with Sherlock Holmes -

From: j.h.watson@email.co.uk- **10:23, 27 Jan.**

To: s.holmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk

Subject:

I’ve read the letter. A dozen times actually. I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time I have a second to myself my thoughts are automatically brought back to this bloody letter.

I’m starting to accept the situation, or I think I am. It doesn’t feel as strange as the first few times now, reading words from another version of myself. My mom used to tell me there are things in this world that we can’t explain, I guess this is one of them. Who knows what the future will offer? Who knows what mankind is capable of doing? I sure don’t.

You know what I hate the most about all this?

How fucking unfair is it that these versions of ourselves get to be happy. Why them? Why do they get to be married and waking up next to each other every morning? Why do they get to kiss, hold, and love each other without restraint when I can’t even send you a single text without wondering if you’ll ever want to talk to me again.

I hate this, Sherlock. I hate that I can’t stop staring at my name attached to yours. I hate that I can’t stop picking up that photo of you - no, of him, and wonder what it would feel like to kiss you awake. I hate that this is the closest I will ever get to what I dreamt about for years. I hate that I am now waiting for the next letter, the next photo.

This other me, he knows the exact taste of your lips. He must know the exact taste of every inch of your body. God knows I would have learnt each curve, each sharp angle by heart if I could have you in my bed. Christ. I thought I could move past this, that the distance would help, but of course something like this has to happen!

Do you want to know what makes it even worse, he called him _my Sherlock_.

[Saved as draft]


	24. January 27th, 2016

**__** _\- Text thread with John Watson -_

**typing…**

**__** _John?_

_**typing…** _

**__** _I was wondering if you had time to rea-_

**typing…**

**__** _I just wanted to know if we’-_

**sent / 09:34**

Have you read the letter?

**John**

(...)

**received / 09:37**

I did.

**typing…**

_What did he sa-_

**sent / 09:38**

Do you believe him?

**received / 09:38**

I have to, haven’t I.

**sent / 09:39**

Of course you don’t. We can forget about this, if that’s what you want.

**received / 09:40**

What about what you want, then?

**typing…**

_There’s many things I want, John._

**sent / 09:41**

It doesn’t matter.

**received / 09:41**

Of course it bloody does.

**received / 09:42**

Sorry.

**sent / 09:42**

You’re angry.

**received / 09:43**

No, I’m not. I just- It’s just a lot, alright.

**sent / 09:43**

I know it is.

**sent / 09:46**

Are you still there.

**received / 09:47**

Yes, Sherlock. I’m here.

**sent / 09:48**

Are we- I mean, is it okay?

**received / 09:48**

It will be. 

**typing…**

_Please tell me I haven’t made things worse._

**received / 09:49**

Tell me if there are other letters. 

**sent / 09:49**

I will, of course.

**received / 09:50**

Thanks. 

**John**

(...)

**received / 09:51**

I gotta to go, talk to you later.

**sent / 09:51**

Alright. Bye.

**typing…**

_Tell Rosie I miss her._

**typing…**

_I miss you._


	25. January 27th, 2016

**__** _\- E-mail thread with Sherlock Holmes -_

From: j.h.watson@email.co.uk- **22:17, 27 Jan.**

To: s.holmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk

Subject: Letters.

Sherlock,

I’ve been thinking about what I would write in this email all day. Ever since I read the letter actually. There are things that you can’t just ignore, and this is definitely one of them.

I meant what I said earlier, this is a lot to take in, and I am truly starting to believe it will somehow make sense at some point, but in the meantime, I can’t just not talk about it. To you.

Who else am I gonna talk about this with anyway? This is insane, beyond insane, and yet there is too much evidences that I just can’t ignore. So I’m going to believe this other John, and all he’s saying, and continue to read the letters he will surely send while trying not to overthink any of it. 

Don’t you think it’s funny, having them writing to us? Even through universes, we are better at putting words down than speaking them out. It’s just all so… funny.

This email was supposed to be about the decision I made while reading the letter a thousand times, so I’m going to stop rambling and get down to it: I don’t care what these two other versions of ourselves want, I’m going to tell you about what’s in those letters. 

In my own letters.

I want you to reply. I mean, I’d like you to reply. With your own letters. At least for now. 

Or you can just forget about all this.

John.


	26. January 28th, 2016

_\- Text thread with John Watson -_

 

**received / 13:29**

I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for lunch.

**sent / 13:30**

I understand, next time. 

**received / 13:30**

I really wish I could have stayed.

**received / 13:31**

This was a good case, it’s been

a while since we had one

**sent / 13:31**

It was actually a nice one, yes. 

**received / 13:32**

Come on, just admit you enjoyed

it.

**sent / 13:32**

I will do no such thing. 

**received / 13:32**

You’re no fun.

**received / 13:33**

Are you sulking now?

**sent / 13:34**

Am not. 

**received / 13:35**

Good. Because I put something

in your coat pocket earlier. And you

should be in a good mood before

reading it.

**received / 13:35**

Sherlock?

**sent / 13:36**

I didn’t think you’d actually

write one of these. 

**received / 13:36**

I said I would, didn’t I? 

**sent / 13:36**

You did. 

**received / 13:37**

Just read it and then do

whatever you want with it.

_**typing...** _

**__** _Read it over and over?_

**sent / 13:38**

I know I didn’t reply to your

email, but I thought it was 

pretty obvious I would reply

to any letter you write me. 

**received / 13:38**

Not that obvious, no.

**received / 13:39**

But I’m glad you will.

**received / 13:39**

I had a really good time this morning.

**sent / 13:40**

I did too, John. 

**received / 13:40**

Good. Let me know when

a new case comes in, ok?

**sent / 13:41**

I will. 

**received / 13:41**

Gotta go. See you soon,

alright?

**sent / 13:42**

Soon. 

_**typing….** _

**__** _I love you_


	27. January 28th, 2016

_\- Letter from John, found in Sherlock’s coat pocket -_

Sherlock,

I should say now that the last time I wrote you a letter, it ended up being a big mistake. I didn’t meant any of the words I wrote down, and even if we already had the chance to discuss it, it still needed to be put out there. This won't exactly be a proper letter, not in length or intentions, but more an introduction of all the things I wish for us to talk about, if you agree.

As I told you before, I am not going to keep secret any of the things this other John wrote. I actually believe he wants me to tell you, or at least, I know I wouldn’t have minded. So let’s start with the obvious, the one fact that’s even more unreal than this whole other universe thing: this other John is married to you.

He signed John Watson-Holmes. I’m sure the Sherlock writing to you also signed both of our names. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. That's something, no? I mean, these two other versions of ourselves, writing to us for some strange reason, are married. Married.

And this John is making it feel so… easy. He writes about how natural it was to just be with you, I mean this other you. He calls him my Sherlock, you know. This other you belonged to that John. Can you imagine it, belonging to another person this way? Is it something you ever even considered?

He attached a picture to the letter and I’ve never seen you so relaxed, Sherlock. In this picture, you’re asleep in a bed that’s ours, theirs, and you look so trusting but vulnerable at the same time.

This Sherlock just belongs there.

In the end, is it really that unbelievable?

John.


	28. January 28th, 2016

_\- Text thread with Sherlock Holmes -_

_**typing…** _

**__** _Have you read it?_

**_typing…_ **

**__** _I can’t remember what I wrote…._

**_typing…_ **

**__** _No, actually I can. Every_

_single word._

**_typing…_ **

**__** _Have you read it?_

**_typing…_ **

**__** _Was it alright? I can take_

_it back if it’s not, I can_

_just forget about-_

**_typing…_ **

**__** _Have you read it?_


	29. January 28th, 2016

_\- Text thread with John Watson -_

_**typing…** _

**__** _John, I-_

**_typing…_ **

**__** _Your letter, you ask if_

_it’s that unbel-_

**_typing…_ **

**__** _I’ve finished your letter._

_I want to see yo-_

**_typing…_ **

**__** _Of course I’ve_

_imagined it. I still do._

_All the time._

**_typing…_ **

**__** _I’ve always belonged_

_to you John. No need_

_to be married for that._

**_typing…_ **

**__** _I need to see you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Sherlock's Interlude!


	30. Interlude Two : Sherlock

_January, 29th 2016_

 

 

When Sherlock finally manages to put down John’s letter, night has fallen. He casts a quick look at the window, trying to deduce the exact time, and rewards himself with a small smile when he checks the clock. He forces himself not to read John’s words for the thousandth time, having learned them all by heart now, and really, there isn’t much more he can do by simply sitting there, reading.

He knows exactly what he wants to do, but he’s not certain it’s what he should do. There was a time when he wouldn’t have hesitated a second, storming out of here and getting things done. But now, with memories of all that happened, all that could have been avoided, Sherlock has learned to think first and act second. And in this very moment, acting is probably the worse option.

He walks to his bedroom instead, picking up pen and journal and writing down quickly,

 

_03:09 _

_I can’t let myself hope._

_Not after all this time. We’ve been through enough, missed too many opportunities (if they were even opportunities). It’s not surprising that it’s letters from some other version of ourselves that are going to change anything._

_Yes, they’re married and happy and living a life I’ve stopped fantasising about a long time ago. But that’s it. They’re living it, not us. And it doesn't’ matter what John wrote, doesn’t matter what he implied. He has Rosie, he had Mary, he experienced this married life already and it’s over now._

_It’s over now._

 

“Over,” Sherlock finds himself whispering to the silent room. He closes his eyes, falling back onto the bed and exhaling loudly. What is this other Sherlock and John’s plan? Makes it even harder to think about all that could have been. Because, clearly, there is no need for such thing. Sherlock is well too aware that there had been a time where maybe, _maybe_ , he could have done something and John might have said _yes_. But that was then, and this is now. Over.

Right?

He abandons the journal on his bed again, sighing out loud before walking back to the kitchen and grabbing the enveloppe on the table. He hadn’t dared reading over what he wrote right after reading John’s letter. He knows for a fact that he’d be tearing it apart the second he reread it, and if he has learned anything from John’s blog, it’s that first draft are filled with sentiments you outh to keep to yourself, but maybe this is just what they need right now.

He puts the enveloppe in his coat pocket and walks out of the flat. John will still be asleep, that much is certain, and Sherlock isn’t sure he can wait for the next case to discreetly slip the letter in John’s bag or pocket. If he can’t fulfill his need to _see_ John right now, at least he can do this.

“Richmond Road,” the tells the cabbie, closing his eyes and resting his head against the window.

It will only take a few minutes to get there, just the time he needs to reconsider it all one last time. Alternate Universes. Other versions of himself. Letters and photographs. All of it, nonsense.

_In the end, is it really that unbelievable?_

“We’re here.”

Sherlock gets out, the street deadly silent at this hour. In the end, it only takes him seven minutes to walk all the way to John’s door, and barely a few seconds to drop the enveloppe in John’s mailbox.

He decides to walk back home just as the front door opens, “Sherlock?”

Remembering how to breathe, Sherlock inhales sharply, “I was…” They stare at each other, words dying in Sherlock’s throat, “I…”

“Come in,” John says, moving to the side, and Sherlock only has the time to notice his cripsed hand on the door handle before getting inside. He stops in the living room, eyes roaming all over the room, taking in everything that has changed since he last visit, proves that John’s life went on, here. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Sherlock manages to reply, clearing his throat. “I was just… in the neighborhood.”

John doesn’t comment on the lie, and Sherlock thanks him silently.

“I was just making some tea,” he says instead, “Do you want some?”

“At three in the morning?” Sherlock can’t help but ask, biting his lips right after, but John smiles at him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, voice almost too quiet, and Sherlock almost, _almost_ , asks him what’s keeping him awake. He’s not sure he’s ready for the answer. “So, tea?”

Sherlock nods, and they both walk to the kitchen without another word. Sherlock sits down, coat still on, and he finds himself wondering if he should take it off. John is wearing his usual green dressing gown, looking strangely awake for the hour, and once again, Sherlock bites back each questions threatening to breach his lips.

“Did another letter arrive?” John asks, sitting down and giving him his mug.

“No,” Sherlock replies.

“New case?”

Sherlock shakes his head.

“Oh,” John breathes, looking down at his tea. “You were just… in the neighborhood.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply, silence filling the room. Sherlock can’t help but notice the marks under John’s eyes, deeper than the last time they saw each other. _Not sleeping at all, it seems._

“Sherlock, I-” John stops, breathing out deeply.

“I should go,” Sherlock says, knowing perfectly neither of them will be able to say nothing of importance. Not at this hour, not so soon after John’s first attempt at “fixing” things. “There’s this experiment waiting at home.”

“Right, yes, sure,” John says, glancing up at him.

“Thank you for the tea,” Sherlock smiles, or at least try to, standing up.

John nods, following him to the door without a word. They remain on the household for a long moment, Sherlock finally saying in a breath, “Your mailbox.” John frowns at him. “I put my letter there.”

“Oh,” John breathes, eyes widening.

Sherlock drops his gaze, biting his lower lips before turning to walk away. He feels John’s stare on him all the way down the nearest corner.


	31. January 29th, 2016

_\- Letter read after Sherlock left -_

John,

You asked me in your letter if it was all that unbelievable. The truth is, I don’t know anymore. It seems that everything I thought I knew has been crumbling down around me lately, and as strange as it is, another version of myself is responsible for it all. And yes, I should have told you about the _married_ part, but every time I tried to, something held me back. I can’t exactly say what is it in this letter, I’m not sure I could find the right words to do so anyway.

But, as usual, you’re right. We’ve always been better at putting thoughts into words than speaking them out loud. I almost believe that those other versions of ourselves wrote us those letter to push us to do the same. If their reasons are still somewhat unclear, I’m beginning to think that was their purpose all along, getting us talking.

So I’m going to follow your lead, and won’t try to hide the content of each letter I’ve received. I explained in my first email that this other Sherlock presented evidence that even I couldn’t deny. Those are what I wish to tell you about in this letter. The thing is, in the first letter I received, this other Sherlock told me that our life began to go a different way the day after our first meeting, you and I. In fact he said that there are four different version of ourselves out there, and to think that in each of them we met the same way makes it just a little harder to think.

Can you still remember this day? Or the one that followed? Six years has passed, and yet I can remember each minute with a strange accuracy. Some days, I wonder if I’d ever forget. I am not sure I can. I cherish these memories John. They marked the beginning of our friendship, of the life we shared, even just for a while. I often find myself thinking back on those first few days, when you hadn’t moved in yet, when you chose to save my life after barely knowing anything about me. We never did talked about this, not like we oathed to have.

This other Sherlock…

He knows, John. The thoughts that were keeping my mind wide awake the first night you slept in the upstairs bedroom. He knows exactly what I was thinking about because he had lied there too, staring at the ceiling and running dozen of scenarios inside his head. But it appears that he dared to do what I couldn’t, and it changed everything.

I should stop now, having said too much already.

And please, believe me when I say that I know exactly what you mean when talking about belonging to someone else.

Sherlock.

PS: I’ve also received a photograph, if you wish to see it.


	32. January 29th, 2016

_\- Phone call transcript -_

**DATE** : 01/29/16

 **TIME** : 04:07 A.M

 **DURATION** : 08:23

 **INCOMING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX32

 **RECEIVING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX67

 

XX67: ( _surprised_ ) John?

XX32: Did you know what date it is when you came to give me that letter?

XX67: _(hesitating)_ Yes.

XX32: I almost said something. I should have.

XX67: It’s alright, John.

XX32: Not it’s not. I should be better at this, I meant to be.

_(Neither of them speak for a long moment. Sherlock has stopped walking, eyes closed. John’s breathing is heavy on the line.)_

XX32: _(quietly)_ Don’t you ever wish you could just go back to that day?

XX67: John, I-

XX32: I know it’s stupid, that it can’t be done so why even think about it? But, hell, do you?

XX67: I… Yes.

XX32: Would you… Would you do things differently?

XX67: _(exhaling loudly)_ I think I would, yes.

XX32: How so?

_(Silence)_

XX32: Nevermind, you don’t have t-

XX67: There are things I wouldn’t have said, questions I would have answered differently.

XX32: Yeah?

XX67: Yes.

XX32: You’re right. In you letter. We should have talked about it years ago.

XX67: But we didn’t.

XX32: Is now too late?

( _Silence. Sherlock smiles._ )

XX67: Maybe it’s not.

XX32: Can we- ( _John clears his throat)_ Can we meet somewhere later today? Maybe dinner?

XX67: Angelo’s?

XX32: _(laughing quietly)_ Yeah, that’ll be perfect.

_(Silence)_

XX32: Is seven alright?

XX67: Yes.

XX32: I’ll see you then.

XX67: Try to get some sleep, John.

XX32: I will.

**\- CALL ENDED -**


	33. January 29th, 2016

_\- Text thread with John -_

**sent / 09:09**

John?

* * *

**received / 10:16**

Sorry, I took advantage

of Rosie’s nap to sleep

too. Is everything alright?

**Sent / 10:17**

Yes. We’ve received

two new letters. 

**sent / 10:17**

And a note.

**received / 10:18**

A note?

**sent / 10:18**

Yes. Addressed to the

both of us.

**received / 10:18**

What does it say?

**sent / 10:19**

Happy Anniversary.

**sent / 10:19**

John?

**received / 10:19**

I take it they’re celebrating.

**sent / 10:20**

Apparently, yes.

**received / 10:21**

Isn’t it what we’re doing

too? Later?

**typing...**

_Does it really have to_

_be later?_

**sent / 10:22**

Yes. We are. 

**received / 10:22**

Good. 

**received / 10:23**

Until later, then.

**sent / 10:23**

Until later.

* * *

**received / 14:54**

Mrs. Hudson is going

to take care of Rosie

tonight. So I guess

we’ll go together to

Angelo’s?

**sent / 14:54**

Alright. She must be

delighted.

**received / 14:55**

Sounded like it, yes.

**received / 14:56**

Have you read your letter?

**sent / 14:56**

Not yet.

**received / 14:57**

Why not?

**sent / 14:57**

I’m not sure…

**received / 14:58**

You know you can read

mine, right?

**sent / 14:58**

I know. But I’d rather

you tell me later what’s

in it.

**sent / 14:59**

In your own letter.

**received / 14:59**

Yes, ok, that’s… just fine.

* * *

**received / 18:29**

On my way.


	34. January 29th, 2016

_\- Overhead conversations -_

 

“... for agreeing to meet.”

“I had nothing planned.”

“Oh, yes, right.”

“No, no that’- Even if I had something planned I would have…”

“Come?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

“How’s Rosie?”

“Fine, just fine. She’s crawling around all the time now.”

“She’s exploring, John.”

“Right, the great discovery of the living room.”

“All discoveries are great.”

“Of course they are.”

 

* * *

 

“... and that’s when the killer chose to abandon the weapon, in plain sight, while we were still on the crime scene. Lestrade and I walked past it a dozen times before I noticed it, and then he had plenty of time to get away.”

“Wait, you didn’t notice it right away?”

“We both know hiding something in plain sight is quite smart, John.”

“Right, yes, but considering it was a giraffe statuette…”

“Go ahead, laugh!”

 

* * *

 

“Did you notice?”

“What?”

“Angelo didn’t place a candle on the table this time.”

“Oh, right.”

“Do you mind if I ask him to?”

“Yes that’s- , I mean no, no, I don’t... mind.”

 

* * *

 

“I brought your letter.”

“Oh, thanks. Still haven’t read yours?”

“No. I was thinking later tonight.”

“It took me hours to read the first one you gave me. It just felt unreal.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not really. It should be, but-”

“I know. I know.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m happy we did this.”

“So am I, John.”

“No matter what happened, this isn’t a date I want to forget about. After all they are right, this is an anniversary”

“Does it mean we’ll do this next year too?”

“Yes. If that’s- Yes.”


	35. January 29th, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky you, you get another chapter today, enjoy :)

_**-** Letter read in the cab ride home -_

John,

By now I expect you had the time to deal with the situation, and I even dare hope, manage to talk about it with Sherlock. If he’s anything like my Sherlock, then he’s probably dying to understand what is happening, and as always, he needs us to do so. I know we’ve never been “good” with words when it comes to situations like this, but trust me when I say that there is no other option here than just that: words.

Knowing myself, I’m thinking you’ve started your own letters to your own Sherlock. There was a time where I did just that too, but we’ll come back to that later. Right now, I’d like to talk to you about the one thing that could have messed it all up for me, and is probably the reason why it’s all messed up in your universe. Don’t try to deny it (just like I explained in my first letter): by not being with Sherlock Holmes right now, you both messed up. But don’t worry, we always had the tendency to do so. And together, we are going to sort it all out and for that, I’m going to need you to trust me.

What I’m going to ask is not easy, and it will probably take you some time, but I promise that it’s the best solution you have. Here it is, John: you need to tell him. Everyting. Every single secret you kept to yourself, all the things no one else knows about, you tell him.

The two of you can’t go any further if you don’t learn to trust each other. Trust me.

I did exactly the same, more than twenty years ago now. My situation is nothing like yours, I fell into Sherlock Holmes’ arms the very day after our meeting. But it didn’t change the fact that it took us months to truly, and I do mean truly trust each other. Yes, just like you, I killed a man to save him before even agreeing to share a flat, but that instant connection didn’t make it alright. It took work, a lot of work, and we only manage to survive as a couple because we talked _._

There is no other option really. I revealed all of my deepest thoughts to Sherlock, told him all the things I never dared to tell anyone, and I trusted him with all of it. And he trusted me too, he told me secrets that made me angry and sad and bloody mad sometimes, but he told them to me, and for that, I’m so very grateful.

So, yes, I know, it won’t be easy. And yes, there are things you’d like to keep to yourself; I lived them all too. But trust me, it will only feel good to let them all out. Sherlock will understand, the way he understands such things. No matter if you’re certain he has already deduced them all, tell him. We both know that even the great Sherlock Holmes can miss the most obvious fact when presented to it, especially when it concerns you, John Watson.

Take all the time you need, but please, do take it.

 

_John Watson-Holmes_

_Sussex, Yellow Garden,_

_February 20th, 2045_


	36. January 29th, 2016

_\- Text thread with Sherlock -_

_**typing...** _

_I’ve finished the letter._

_What this John is telling_

_me to do, I don’t think I…_

 

_**typing...** _

_I don’t know how to-_

 

**sent / 22:09**

I really had a good

time tonight, thank you

for agreeing to come.

 

**sent / 22:09**

I think Angelo nearly

combusted with joy when

we came in.

 

**sent / 22:10**

Strangely, it almost

felt like all those years

ago.

 

**sent / 22:11**

Sherlock?

 

**received / 22:13**

Sorry. I was reading.

I also enjoyed this evening

very much, John.

 

**received / 22:13**

Angelo had been asking

me when we’d stop by

for months now.

 

**sent / 22:14**

I bet he did! Reading your

letter then?

 

**received / 22:14**

Yes. Have you?

 

**sent / 22:15**

In the cab, yes.

 

_**Typing…** _

_I don’t think I’m ready_

_for such a letter and it_

_scares me, Sherlock…_

 

**received / 22:16**

Will you tell me about it,

in your own letter?

 

**received / 22:16**

If you wish to continue,

of course.

 

**sent / 22:18**

I’ll try to… Yes,

I’ll tell you about it.

 

**received / 22:18**

Thank you.

 

**received / 22:19**

In my letter, Sherlock,

he explained the third

universe we exist in.

I think it’ll be better for you

to read his own words

rather than mine explaining

it all again.

 

**sent / 22:20**

Yeah, you’re probably

right. I could always come

get the letter tomorrow? If

that’s ok with you.

 

**received / 22:20**

Tomorrow, yes. I’ll

Also show you the case

file I told you about.

 

**sent / 22:21**

Perfect. I’ll see you

tomorrow then. Goodnight,

Sherlock.

 

**received / 22:21**

Goodnight, John.


	37. January 29th, 2016

\- Letter read sitting in his chair -

Sherlock,

I dare hope you are alright, and that you and John managed to find your own ways to communicate. Those letters were never meant to remain secret, and discussing their contents with one another is really inevitable at this point. I know for sure you’re going to wish to discuss what I’m about to write down with John, and once again, I encourage you to do so.

I promised you that I would tell you about each universe we exist in, and so I will. For the purpose of these letters, let’s established that my universe is the first one (which I’ll be talking about last), and yours the second. That leaves us with two more, and in this letter, I’m going to talk about the third universe. I’ll try to write down everything I would wish to know if I were in your place, and I apologize in advance if by the end of this letter, you feel like I forgot something important.

Down to it now, the third universe, or as John likes to call it, the Pool universe. You’ve probably already made the connection, so yes, in this universe, the pool incident is a decisive one. But from the beginning:

It appears that in each universe, John and I meet the same way. The Pool universe is no different, we meet John in a lab in Bart’s and the very next day, he kills a man for us and moves in the upstairs bedroom. The day after that differs in my universe, but in yours and the Pool’s, the next few months are the same (except for some details that are truly irrelevant here). Which brings us to april 2010 and, as you surely remember, Moriarty. I won’t bother to go into details here, this day has marked me in a very different way than it marked you, but still there is no need to relive those moments yet another time.

In the Pool universe, John’s kidnapping changed everything. They went home that night and kissed the second they were both safe inside the flat. From what I’ve been allowed to see, desperation drove them together in the best way it can.

I can honestly say that I didn’t let John get out of bed for a entire day after the incident, too afraid he might slip through my fingers once again. I don’t think he minded, not at all in fact.

Can you honestly close your eyes and not remember feeling this urge to have John close, in your very arms, so that you’d be sure he wouldn’t disappear again?

This third Sherlock gave in, and from this day on, their reality took one unique turn. Because that’s the other thing, Sherlock: if each of our stories begin the same, once we take that one (majestic-scary-logical) step, we go our different ways. Major events still happen to each of our versions, but the way we handle them entirely depends on each universe.

Here’s what I can tell you of the Pool universe:

  * They stop using the upstairs bedroom after the incident
  * It takes twenty-two days before they properly talk
  * Sherlock still jumps
  * John waits for him
  * They get married two months after he returns
  * John walks out (and doesn’t come back for a few days) four times
  * They retire to the south of France (John’s choice)
  * Scientists do not discover gaps in space, we don’t send them letters, they’re happy just as they are



I’d rather stop now, their private affairs having to remain just that despite our close connection. I’ll explain the fourth universe in my next letter.

Until then,

 

_Sherlock Watson-Holmes_

_Sussex, Yellow Garden,_

_February 20th, 2045_


	38. January 30th, 2016

_\- Sherlock’s blue journal, fifth page -_

01:34

It makes sense.

As weird it sounds, it makes sense. Of course they would have needed each other after the pool incident. Even I, back then, could barely restrain myself from pulling John close and never letting go. It would have been so easy in the end. If this Sherlock managed to do so, why couldn’t I have done the same? Would John have gone into my arms and stayed there?

All logic leads to a _yes_.

In each universe, everything goes the same until… until that moment. So each Sherlock, each John felt the same, and so… And so it could have happened. I could have kissed John after we came back home. He could have kissed me.

Or even before. Right from the start. Even if _he_ never said anything, I know what I could have done the very next day after John moved in. I know that I came close to doing so many times by now.

Time wasted.


	39. January 30th, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe I've posted the first chapter of this story a month ago?!  
> Thank you for all the amazing comments, you are absolutely amazing!

_\- Phone call transcript -_

**DATE** : 01/30/16

**TIME** : 04:56 PM

**DURATION** : 10:34

**INCOMING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX32

**RECEIVING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX67

 

XX67: ( _surprised)_ John, have you forgotten something?

XX32: No, no. It’s just that… ( _He clears his throat_ ) I’ve just finished the letter from Sherlock.

XX67: Oh. I see. What did you think, then?

XX32: It’s, well, it’s a lot to take in for sure.

XX67: Each letter is a lot to take in.

XX32: ( _laughing)_ Yeah, right. But this one…( _he hesitates_ ) This one feels almost too close.

XX67: ( _hesitant_ ) Close?

XX32: You know… reading about the incident, Moriarty and all the… rest. I mean, reading that we are married in one universe was a shock but in a se-

XX67: A shock?

XX32: Yes, I mean not in a b- ( _sigh_ ) It was just…

XX67: A lot to take in.

XX32: Don’t tell me it’s all just fine for you.

XX67: Why shouldn’t it be fine?

XX32: No, that’s not what- Christ, this is not what I called you for.

XX67: Why did you call then?

XX32: Sherlock, I- ( _another sigh_ ) Yes. It’s a lot to take in, and yes, it was a shock to read it all. But that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.

( _Silence_ )

XX32: Are you sulking now?

XX67: I am not a child, John.

XX32: Sure used to act like one before. Listen, Sherlock, I really didn’t call for us to fight over this.

XX67: I’m sorry.

XX32: No, it’s alright. Maybe calling right after reading the letter wasn’t a good idea. I’ll just… I’ll have another letter for you soon, hopefully by tomorrow.

( _Silence_ )

XX32: I had a good time today, and I’m happy I managed to help you solve the case.

XX67: I don’t think I will ever understand how you manage to do so every time.

XX32: And I’m gonna take that as a compliment.

( _They both laugh quietly_ )

XX67: I’ll see you tomorrow then, for the letter?

XX32: I... Yes, tomorrow.

**\- CALL ENDED -**


	40. January 30th, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER
> 
> abuse, don't read number 1  
> suicidal thoughts, don't read number 4  
> war wounds and blood, don't read number 6

**__** _\- Letter read after John and Rosie left -_

Sherlock,

This is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I joined the bloody army, so I’m not going to linger much. I’m following the advice of another me, and even though there is a good chance you’ve already deduced what I’m about to say, know that these are the things I’ve kept to myself only all this time. Secrets I’ve never shared, ones that I’m about to tell you now:

1) I failed my mom and sister. No matter what Harry said, no matter what my mom used to say, I didn’t protect them the way I should have. My dad hurt them in ways he never dared to use on me, and I let him. I was too scared to do anything, too scared he would lash out if I said something, did something. Too afraid he’d hit them harder, just to punish me. So I never tried, never raised my voice, and simply closed my eyes and covered my ears when my mom’s cries were too loud. I was a coward, and it doesn’t matter that I was only a child, we hear stories every day of kids doing the _right_ thing, and I didn’t. So I failed them, and let my father beat them up until he decided he was better off without us and left, and even then, I wasn’t able to repair the damage he caused. I watched my mom become more and more silent, watched Harry sneak out of the house only to come back drunk. And I continue to fail them, unable to pick up the phone and meet Harry for coffee, unable to even tell Rosie about her aunt, unable to apologize.

2) Ella would have probably loved to hear this one, and yet I’ve never managed to get it out, but I’m going to try. I, and it really shouldn’t be so bloody hard to say, always felt romantic/sexual attraction to both women and men. Even when I was just a kid, playing at school and pretending to get married to my best friend, Pierre. We didn’t care, not the slightest, and when his big brother told us boys are supposed to love and get married to girls, it only striked me as very unfair. Pierre grew out of it, probably, but I didn’t. I kissed girls in middle school but dreamt of holding hands with this boy in my math class every night. It’s not that I didn’t like kissing girls - I enjoyed it a lot, in fact, but when I finally kissed Mark Steven in High School, I realised kissing boys was just as enjoyable, maybe even a bit more so. And, Christ, enjoy kissing him I did. Still now, those are some of my most cherished memories, hidden in the back of the rugby field, hands daring to explore the other’s body freely. And yet, I continued to date women in public, cutting all relations with Mark and boys after graduation and focusing on women only. At least… At least until the army. Maybe this should be another number on this list, but let’s just say the army turned out to be much more open than I had imagined. I kissed and held and touched men, letting myself discover this part of my sexuality that I’d always feared. And then I was back home, back to women, dating and even marrying one. If I were to be completely honest (that being the purpose of this letter in fact) I’d say that I’ve always prefered being with men, but felt more comfortable being out with women. It doesn’t take your genius mind to know what it means…

3) It’s probably the right time to confess that I never loved Mary. There’s not much to say about this, really. I was fond of her, liked her very much, but never loved her like I should have. In the end, it’s probably for the best, considering all she did, and maybe I even knew deep down what kind of woman she truly was. In any case, she was simply the woman I married because I was too afraid to do anything else.

4) Because I could have done something else. Almost did, actually, and I’m ever so grateful I didn’t now. Another thing you should know, that I’ve kept to myself when I should have been seeking help. When… when you were gone, exactly forty-six days after you jumped, I sat in our living room and stared at my gun for an entire afternoon. It seemed like the simplest solution at the time, and yet the hardest one, too. I had nothing, Sherlock, absolutely nothing. I was living on automatic, having nothing, noone to come home too, not a single idea of what to do the day after, and the one after that, and the one after… I don’t know what made me put the gun away in the end, and it’s probably thanks to Mary that I never took it out again. So she did that at least - kept me alive long enough for you to come back.

5) It’s only fair that I share a secret about you, and if there’s many to choose from, I think this one is the right one for now. I could have dated men after I came back. After the army, after what I experienced there, after realising there was really no shame in being with a man, I could have chosen to date both men and women. But I didn’t, and it has to do with you. Before you start jumping to conclusions, I wasn’t afraid of what you’d say or do - after all, I did tell you it was all fine that first night. No, the thing is, I’ve come to realise that dating women was easy because it wasn’t actually serious, not with any of them. I know, Sarah seemed like a serious enough relationship, but trust me, it was anything but. Dating women was not complicated, while dating men would have started up a conversation that I wasn’t sure I wanted, but mostly because I knew that if I were to seek out a relationship with a man, it would be a serious one. And there was really only one person I’d wish to engage with in such a relationship at the time. Still now. 

6) I’ve left this for last, having a lot to say about the army, so many things I’ve decided should remain in that desert, but I can’t do this list without talking about it. A few months after I enrolled, a soldier was assigned with me - a young man, Kevin, barely twenty-three years old. He had a gift for medicine, and we quickly became a good pair. He constantly talked about his kid back home, his wife and the house they were dreaming of. I used to tease him about all the letters he received, all the time, but he didn’t mind. He was a sweet kid, really. He died just a few weeks before I got shot. We were in the middle of this bloody desert, having just patched up men that had been ambushed. I remember him talking about sunburns, the two of us laughing, when a mine exploded right under him. I was standing a few feet away, the explosion knocking me off my feet, and by the time I manage to get up and run to him, he was already half dead. The others had left already, the two of us the last to follow, and I tried, God, I tried to carry him to the car but his intestines were all inside out, I couldn’t move or he’d start begging me to stop. The camp was more than thirty minutes away. I knew I would never have the time to get him back there. And he knew too. So I stayed with him, hands clasped together as he talked about his wife, his kid and their house. I listened until it became too hard to speak, and so I spoke for him, told him about the future he could have, and continued even after he stopped breathing. I carried him to the car, drove back to camp and wrote a letter to his wife. She replied, but I’ve never dared to read it. Maybe… maybe it’s time.

So here it is, Sherlock, the letter I now wish to tear apart and start over. But I won’t, because I trust you with those secrets, trust you with so much more too. 

John.


	41. January 31st, 2016

**__** _\- Phone call transcript -_

**DATE** : 01/31/16

 **TIME** : 02:47 PM

 **DURATION** : 3:58

 **INCOMING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX67

 **RECEIVING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX32

 

XX32: …

XX67: John? 

XX32: …

XX67: You don’t have to say anything. I was just- I only meant to - ( _sharp inhale_ ) John, your letter, I - You have to know, those things you wrote, I’ve never dared to dig that much into you, never dared to push my deductions that far. I always stopped myself, always looked away and focused on something else. This, all this, it was private, not mine to look for. ( _Silence. Heavy breathing on the line._ ) I’ve read your letter more times than I can count, and each time I can’t help but look back on the days I could have asked you, could have made it easier for you not to carry all of… all of this, alone. ( _A sigh._ ) I’m sorry, John, so very sorry for all the things I’ve done but also all the things I didn’t do. And… and I’m glad, really glad that you trust me enough with any of it, even after all that happened. And I promise never to tell, never to judge. You have to trust me, I would never- I could never-

XX32: Sherlock.

XX67: ( _panting)_ Yes?

XX32: I’m happy I told you.

XX67: ( _quiet_ ) I’m happy you did too.

_(Silence)_

XX67: I will write a reply, tell you ab-

XX32: You don’t have to.

XX67: No, I want to. I trust you. 

XX32: ( _a smile in his voice_ ) Then I’ll be happy to read it.


	42. January 31st, 2016

_\- Text thread with Sherlock -_

**sent / 22:21**

I’m sorry about the phone

call earlier, I meant to say

something but I just couldn’t

 

**received / 22:21**

There is no need to

apologize, John. What

you wrote, it took a lot

of courage.

 

**sent / 22:21**

I have to be honest,

I still can’t believe I

wrote all that.

 

**received / 22:21**

Did it feel good?

 

**sent / 22:21**

Not in the moment, no.

It felt bloody awful, and

I refused to reread it. But

now… now it feels like

losing a dead weight that

had been on my shoulders

for too long.

 

**received / 22:21**

I meant what I said,

John. I’ve never allowed

myself to deduce all

that about you.

 

**received / 22:21**

But it doesn’t mean I

didn’t want to.

 

**received / 22:21**

I did.

 

**sent / 22:21**

Yeah?

 

**received / 22:21**

Yes. I’ve always wanted

to know absolutely

everything about you.

 

**sent / 22:21**

There’s still so much

I have to say, Sherlock.

 

**received / 22:21**

I want to hear it all.

I want to tell you too.

All of it.

 

_**typing...** _

_God, I love you._

 

**sent / 22:21**

John told me to take

my time, writing this list

to you. And it helped,

having a whole day to

prepare myself. So

there really is no hurry,

ok?

 

**received / 22:21**

I will try. But

knowing myself

I’ll have it ready by

tomorrow.

 

**sent / 22:21**

Did you realise, we’ve

been seeing each other

every day lately.

 

**received / 22:21**

Is that a bad thing?

 

**sent / 22:21**

No, not at all. I just

felt like putting it out

there.

 

**received / 22:21**

We used to see each

other every day before.

 

**sent / 22:21**

I know. I’ve missed it.

 

**received / 22:21**

I’ve missed it too.

 

_**typing...** _

_I’ve missed you._

 

**sent / 22:21**

Rosie’s calling. I’ll see

you tomorrow.

 

**received / 22:21**

Tomorrow.


	43. February 1st, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one is going to another heavy chapter.   
> I hope you'll enjoy my take on Sherlock's secrets.
> 
> WARNING for mention of drug use, violence and torture.

\- _Letter read at night -_

John,

I know you told me to take time to think about what I’d like to write in this letter, but I believe that isn’t the right plan. You see, by allowing myself time, I’d start questioning every single thought I’d be writing down - is it important enough, interesting enough, relevant enough… Whereas writing down what I’m thinking right now, barely two minutes after sending you that last text, I know that the things coming to my mind are the ones I truly need and want to tell you.

I loved my childhood. Despite everything I say or, actually, do not say, I only harbour cherished memories of growing up. My parents were, and still are, a perfect balance of love and kindness and authority. I wasn’t an easy child - I’m certain you’re not surprised - but they never made me feel as though I was different from any other children. They laughed at some of my deductions, were impressed by others but also reprimanded me when I was out of line without ever making me feel ashamed for what I was able to do and therefore not being able to properly socialize with other children my age. They never bothered to insist I invite classmates home or make me go to birthdays I had no interest in. They understood me and accepted me just as I was, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Even if I won’t admit it, of course. And now should be the right time to say it is not all Mycroft’s fault. He was a good big brother, all those years ago. I couldn’t do anything without him, following him everywhere he went. He played with me, read with me, listened to me. But he grew up, and so did I. And then came a point where he was only this older brother who kept insisting on taking care of me when I only wanted peace and quiet and freedom.

And this leads me to talking about the drugs, and the fact that I’ve never enjoyed them, which is quite paradoxical, I know. Every drug addict will tell you about the rush, the sentiment of immortality or the sudden high of confidence. All of them will assure you that drugs make everything possible or easier or simply more bearable. But drugs never meant any of this for me. They were merely a way of keeping myself busy and that’s it. I was only looking for a way to remain out of my own head, just for a little while, to be free of all thoughts and questions and deductions I couldn’t control. I was seeing everything, all the time, and I only wished for it all to stop. And strangely enough, drugs did it. After every hit, I was blessed with a few minutes where my brain went offline, deliciously silent and I could just rest. Even if right after my mind was sharper than before, those few minutes were worth it. And I know it doesn’t make any sense, and writing it all down makes it even less understandable, but I’ve tried and tried to figure out why I needed such peace when deductions were always so… important to me. Even if I have little control over what I see and read on everyone, even if I take pleasure in sharp deductions and solving mysteries, sometimes, I miss the silence. I… I still had some. Drugs I mean, in the flat when I met you. Just in case. I got rid of it right after Lestrade’s fake drug bust, right after I saw how you reacted. I was already afraid you’d leave.

Actually, a great deal of facts about myself made me fear you’d leave. Drugs used to be first on the list but I also used to believe that my lack of interest in the most common things would drive you away. I know you’re probably thinking I’m an idiot, but I also know it drove you mad in the past, realising how little I cared about it all. And if I learned to pay more attention now, there are still areas that are completely unknown to me, a grown man. The most basic things, ones that I know for sure you never truly understood how I could just not care about. So right now I want to talk about the most obvious one (which you’ve been wondering about for years): sex.

Let’s begin by putting it out there: I have never experienced sex. Never bothered to try or, more accurately, never believed I’d found someone interesting enough to be willing to try with. I’ve grown up hearing about sex at school all the time, boys my age never shutting up about it despite never having had any. It became even worse once they were old enough to do so. But by then, I had stopped listening entirely. I didn’t care, not in the slightest. I wasn’t interested in people, so why would I wonder about something that requires being intimate with someone else. I understood the logistics of it all, what goes where and the purpose, but it never appealed to me. Or at least, until I heard about… other types of sexual relations. Men having sex with other men. All of a sudden, I found myself wanting to know more, not yet exploring, but being more aware of it all. So I did what I always do, I researched it, and the results were both scary and strangely never enough. So yes, there was a time where I almost tried, just to get it out of the way, to know for myself and never wonder again, but I never acted on it. Never did what had to be done to find someone, and then it felt like it was too late. I had missed my chance and, in complete honesty, I felt like it was something I just wasn’t meant to experience, and I was fine with it. For a while, at least.

So, to the question you asked that very first evening and that I never actually answered, yes, I am sexually attracted to men only. And to the question you asked that night - you know which one - yes, I am what Mycroft called me: a virgin.

Actually, I want to talk about that night, about Irene Adler and what she said. You know I heard it, and even though back then I wasn’t able to talk about it, I am now. The thing is, John, I’ve always known you were jealous. I deduced it the first week after you moved in. We had a client, a woman who clung onto me when we arrived at the crime scene. I remembered that I didn’t even get the time to make her leave me alone and you were already pushing her away, gently of course, and trying not to be too obvious, but I saw it immediately. And it kept on going, with clients, strangers or friends, you had this tendency to remain close to me, to make sure everyone in the room stayed away from me when you were there. And people did stay away. They saw it too, you made it clear with simple gestures that I, somehow, was yours. So yes, I’ve always known and there were times when I played with this fact. I wanted to make you jealous, wanted to see you step closer, lean closer, even make contact. In the end, I don’t think I was even subtle about it. Janine was… a lot. She played me as much as I played her, and when you came that morning, I think she saw right through you, and it felt like being on a stage, playing a couple, just for you. And that’s not good, I know it’s not good. I’m sorry, if reading this now makes you angry, I’m sorry. Truly, sorry.

You kept your trauma for last in your own letter, and even if I won’t ever understand what you’ve been through along the way, I feel that it’s only fair to let go of some of my own, too. You’ve asked, many times, about what happened during the two years I was away, and I’ve never really answered your question the way I should have. But you surely know it best - trauma isn’t something you can talk about easily, but I am going to try, for you. I’m not sure where to start, what to choose from, so this is probably going to end up being messy and unorganised, and I apologize in advance.

I was beaten one night while I was sitting on a bench in Paris by four men who thought I had something of value on me. They took me by surprise, having locked myself in my Mind Palace. I only remember their fists and insults as they hit me, despite having already took my coat and money. I think they were enjoying it too much to stop. I still dream about one of the men’s laughter. I went a whole ten days without eating during a stake out. I was too afraid to go out of my hiding place, the man I was hunting down being very careful about his own comings and goings. There were armed men all around his house, cameras and security dogs. The more I waited, the more my body started giving up on me. A whole day went by without my remembering what I’d done, I had probably fallen asleep and just didn’t have the strength to wake up. I never felt more alone than during those two years, John. I got used to company, got used to having someone there, right by my side. I used to look for you, talk to you even, explaining my whole plan and hearing your voice answering. I remember keeping my eyes closed so that I could pretend to be in 221B and that we were just talking, sitting in our chairs and trying to solve a particularly difficult case. Some days I just kept them closed for as long as I possibly could. They tortured me in Serbia. I don’t remember much, but my body is a constant reminder of those days. It’s probably for the best that I do not keep memories of that last month anyway.

I wanted to end this letter here, but now I’m finding myself thinking about jealousy again. Because you see, jealousy isn’t something I don’t care about or know about. I do know, quite a lot actually. So I’m going to say this despite knowing I shouldn’t,

I hated your wedding. Every single second of it.

From the moment you announced it to the moment where I walked away from it all.

I hated being part of making it happen. I hated being by your side. I hated playing that song for all of those people. I hated watching you dance with her. I hated giving that speech for all that was left unsaid, all that was to be read between the lines. I hated that the only pleasure I took was from solving the case because for just a second, it wasn’t your wedding anymore, for just a second, I forgot where I was. I hated that you laughed and smiled and held and kissed her. I hated your vows and your shaking hands when you took hers. I hated that I couldn’t control this one deduction that made it all so much more real. I hated that I felt alone, truly alone. And I hated you, John. I hated you for having chosen her, for having married her, for having made me watch.

Because, you see, coming home to you had been the only thing that kept me alive those two years I spent away. Despite the torture, despite the hiding, despite the death and fights and cold nights, I stayed alive because I knew, someday, I’d be able to come home to you. And, stupidly enough, in none of the scenarios I let myself imagine, were you about to be engaged.

I’ll be giving you this letter tomorrow, knowing you’ll be holding in that blank envelope secrets I’ve never thought I’d ever feel the need to share. I realise now there are many more I could tell you, but I find myself hoping I won’t have to write all of those down.

With all of my trust and hope,

Sherlock.


	44. February 2nd, 2016

\- _Phone call transcript -_

 **DATE** : 02/02/16

 **TIME** : 07:34 AM

 **DURATION** : 1:33

 **INCOMING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX32

 **RECEIVING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX67

(020) XXXX XX67: _Sherlock Holmes. Don’t be boring._

_BEEP_

(020) XXXX XX32: Sherlock, it’s me. John, I mean. I ( _He clears his throat_ ) I read your letter last night and wanted to call then, but I thought I should think first, run things through before ending up saying nonsense, so yeah, I’m calling now. And rambling. ( _He laughs_ ). I… Christ, I’ve read your letter and I want to talk about everything you told me, but I’ve… I’ve realised that even if we’ve begun really sharing important… things, we’re still avoiding the obvious and really, there is no way you missed it, I wasn’t even subtle or anything- ( _He sighs_ ) I’m rambling again, shit. Sorry. I just… Ok. We both know perfectly well why these other versions of ourselves are writing us. We both know why we’ve begun our own letters. But I still need to say it out loud otherwise I’ll go insane just trying to figure out if we really both know, so… ( _sharp inhale_ ) I want these letters to help us move from friendship to something more, to something… romantic. A relationship, a real one. Like the one they have. _(Silence_ ). Is… is that what you want too? Because in your letter you said… I mean it was quite obvious that you… _(Another sigh_ ). Just, please, call or text or something when you get this message? I’ll just be… waiting. Ok. Right. Bye.


	45. Interlude Three : John

-  _February, 2nd 2016 -_

 

 

It takes exactly thirty seconds before John realises what he just did.

He stares at his phone, still in hand, and then Sherlock’s letter open on the coffee table. Did he really just say all _that_ in a voicemail? “Fuck,” he curses out loud, sitting back against the sofa and cursing once more, “I’m an idiot.” He closes his eyes, sighing loudly. He hadn’t meant to leave any message at all, just ask Sherlock if they could meet to talk, and somehow he had ended up making a fool of himself, mumbling nonsense and confessing his feelings in a bloody voicemail. To be honest, he hadn’t been thinking clearly ever since reading Sherlock’s letter, each and every one of his confessions prompting a thousand questions, and John had found himself on the verge of storming out of his flat and heading to 221B more than once during the night. Only Rosie and what was left of rational thinking had kept him in his own bed, trying not to overthink Sherlock’s words.

And even if it was all _right here_ , in plain sight between each lines, John still can’t let himself believe… well, all of it. He had known, writing his own letter, that he could have hid his feelings better, could have danced around it and let Sherlock deduce whatever he wanted from him, but he had chosen to be honest instead. And apparently Sherlock had followed his example without question.

_And I hated you, John. I hated you for having chosen her, for having married her, for having made me watch._

He isn’t sure yet how to let himself experience all the mixed feelings that had erupted inside his chest after finishing Sherlock’s letter, but John is finding that slow anticipation and excitement - as well as a paralyzing fear - are starting to take over everything else. He straightens his back, reaching for the letter and reading over the last few lines once again. He already knows most of it by heart, but he can’t help himself, smiling as he reads once again Sherlock’s description of his wedding. He knows he should be at least a bit upset, after all his own best friend is saying how much he hated this very special day they spent hours planning, but John couldn’t care less about all he _should_ be feeling. Christ, he had hated that day too, even if it had taken weeks for him to acknowledge the fact. And to think he didn’t even see a glimpse of Sherlock’s true feelings is making him sick with regrets. He should have seen, should have noticed something was wrong. For God’s sake, that speech had been _a lot_ , and even then, he had only hugged him for six bloody seconds.

“Get yourself moving, Watson,” John says to the silent room. “You’ve missed too many opportunities, time to stop.”

Refusing to spend a moment more waiting here, he grabs his phone, Sherlock’s letter and goes to get Rosie from her room. She’s still half asleep when he puts her in the car seat, and he drives to the daycare quickly. It is still her period of adjustment, but John figures that three hours should be enough to find Sherlock, make him listen to what he has to say and hope for the best. He kisses her softly, feeling this same knot down his chest whenever he has to leave her, but he heads back for the car with one last smile. He’ll be back soon enough, and hopefully, only to go back to Sherlock afterwards.

He spends the entire drive to Baker Street trying hard not to think about what he’d say once he’s there. Prepared speeches were never his forte, and he knows all too well the words would escape him anyway once he’s face to face with Sherlock. It takes him a long moment to find somewhere to park, and when he finally finds himself in front of the massive black door, John takes a minute more to let it all sink in.

 _You’re about to go in there and tell Sherlock Holmes how you’ve always felt about him_.

He can’t help the bright laughter escaping him, and he’s about to knock when he hears a car pulling in behind him. He turns around out of habit, unconsciously checking out for any danger, and his heart stops when he sees Sherlock getting out of a cab, his phone stuck to his ear. It only takes a second for John to realise he’s listening to his message, and when their eyes meet, John remembers to breathe. Sherlock is completely still, eyes locked on him, and John can tell the exact moment when he reaches the end of the voicemail. The whole street goes silent around them as Sherlock lowers his arm only to hit something on his screen and then the phone is back to his ear.

 _He’s listening to it a second time_ , John thinks, heart pounding inside his head. He clenches his fingers, watching Sherlock, whose eyes are now roaming all over him. An eternity stretches around them, and as Sherlock listens to the message a third time, he begins slowly walking toward him. John’s breath catches, and when they’re finally close enough for him to truly see Sherlock’s eyes, John finds himself shivering from head to toe. Neither of them say anything when Sherlock finally lets his hand fall to his side, and John inhales sharply, finding himself - as expected - at lost for words.

The sound of the door opening behind John makes them both jump, Mrs Hudson’s voice just a bit surprised as she says, “Boys, what are you doing standing there?”

“We’re coming in,” Sherlock replies, not looking away from John’s eyes.

“Are the two of you alri-” Mrs Hudson’s voice trails off, and surely she must have noticed _something_ because John can hear her walk back to her flat without another word.

Sherlock breathes out slowly, his voice almost too quiet as he asks, “Yes?”

John nods, wanting nothing more but to climb the few steps to the flat and let its familiar scent and warmth reassure him. He’s the first one to move, turning away but waiting for Sherlock to take a step forward before getting inside. They remain silent all the way up, and John notices the two envelopes as soon as he steps into the kitchen, “New letters?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, standing closer than he had thought. “We received them last night, but Lestrade called with a case and I didn’t have the time to tell you.”

“You haven’t read them then?” John asks, turning to look back at him. Sherlock shakes his head, eyes finds his again. “Do you want to read them together?”

John knows he’s only looking to buy more time, but when Sherlock nods, he can’t help but feel relieved. He takes his own letter and goes to sit in his chair, waiting for Sherlock to sit down too before opening it. He listens as Sherlock does the same, and breathes in deeply before letting his eyes fall on the single line written on the page. He doesn’t try to hold back a warm laugh, all the tension leaving his body, and he looks up to find Sherlock’s questioning eyes on him.

“What does your letter say?” John asks, unable to stop smiling.

“ _Finally_ ,” Sherlock replies, turning the page toward John, the single word written in the middle. “Yours?”

John licks his lips, “ _It’s about bloody time, now get on with it_.”

Sherlock goes from frowning to opening his eyes wide in a second, blushing, and all John can think is how beautiful he is right now. “How can they…” Sherlock begins before frowning again.

“Don’t ask me,” John replies, folding his letter and placing it back inside the envelope. His hands are shaking slightly, and he forces himself to focus on his breathing before looking back up Sherlock. “I’ve read your letter.”

“I know,” Sherlock whispers, having gone still again.

“I’ve left you a message,” John continues.

“I know.” Sherlock is blushing again, but not looking away, and John finds the courage he needs in his cautious but hopeful eyes.

“The things I said in this message,” he begins carefully, “I should have told you like this, face to face.” Sherlock opens his mouth as if to reply but apparently decides against it, looking much more panicked all of a sudden. “I meant every word, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed at this, his entire body shivering, and it takes all of John’s self control not to pull him closer. He leans in instead, unable to stop himself now, “I know we still have a lot to discuss, and God knows I have a lot of questions about what you wrote, but I really, really need to be certain we’re both on the same pa-”

“Yes,” Sherlock interrupts him, eyes snapping back open, alarmed. “Yes, we are.”

John chokes on another laugh, “Yeah?”

Sherlock nods quickly, “Yes, I want to be… I want that too.”

“Be together?” John supplies, lips stretching into an even wider smile, Sherlock’s own smile lighting the entire room.

“Together.”

John’s entire body is now itching to be touching Sherlock’s, the two of them on the edge of their chairs, and the memory of a blurry night comes back to John without warning, taking all the breath out of him. He’s not sure who moved first, or if they just acted as one, but suddenly his hands are cupping Sherlock’s face and their lips are brushing ever so softly. Not bothering to repress yet another shiver, John presses in and, _finally,_ kisses Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your reactions to the last chapter were brilliant, thank you so much!  
> This is first time I've written 45 chapters to get to the first kiss, and I hope you've all enjoyed the journey so far :)


	46. February 2nd, 2016

_\- Text thread with Sherlock -_

**received / 08:23**

John?

 

**sent / 08:23**

Sherlock, are you

texting me from the

bathroom???

 

**received / 08:24**

I have a question.

 

**sent / 08:24**

And you can’t ask

me when you come

out of there?

 

**received / 08:24**

I can’t, this is…

easier.

 

**sent / 08:24**

Alright. But you know

you can tell me anything,

right?

 

**received / 08:25**

Yes, but… I just need

to ask this one thing.

 

**sent / 08:25**

I’m listening.

 

**received / 08:26**

Was it alright?

 

**sent / 08:26**

It?

 

**received / 08:26**

You know…

 

**sent / 08:26**

Are you talking about

the kiss?

 

**received / 08:27**

Yes.

 

**sent / 08:27**

Sherlock, come

out of there.

 

**received / 08:28**

John, please, I

need you to answer.

 

**sent / 08:29**

It was more than alright,

Sherlock. A lot more. And

the only reason I stopped

it at one kiss is because

there’s still a lot we have

to talk about.

 

**sent / 08:29**

Now, please, come

out of there.

 

**received / 08:30**

John, I think…

I think I’m nervous.

 

**sent / 08:30**

Christ, I’m nervous

too, Sherlock. That’s

normal.

 

**received / 08:30**

Is it?

 

**sent / 08:31**

Yes.

 

**sent / 08:32**

Now come back, talking

about it made me want

to kiss you again.


	47. February 2nd, 2016

_\- Sherlock’s green journal, forty-fourth page -_

John kissed me.

Not just one kiss, even if the first one was beyond anything I ever dared to imagine. No, he kissed me four times. Four. Each kiss different from the previous one, every one of them absolutely perfect. I couldn’t care less about experiences or previous data, if I get to kiss John - and only him - from now on, then I won’t ever complain again. Just kiss him. If he lets me.

He will let me. He liked those kisses, told me so. Many times. And I have to trust him, I have to believe what I can see with my own two eyes. He told me. He showed me. He kissed me.

He kissed me.

He had to leave. He had no choice. But he’ll be back, with Rosie, soon. And he’ll kiss me again. He told me. He promised, smiling and standing still so very close. He seemed unable to sit anywhere but pressed against me, our chairs abandoned in favor of the sofa. His idea - clever - as soon as I got out of the bathroom. He didn’t laugh, didn’t mock me. He kissed me, standing inside the kitchen, one hand on my nape and the other holding on to my waist. He touched me, ever so gently, and didn’t say anything when I touched him. 

He smiled, again. Always. Didn’t stop, even after he left. I saw him smiling, going to his car and looking up at me. He had kissed me not a minute before, in the doorway, lingering just a little longer than during the three previous ones. He said he had to go - for the fifth time - his lips still pressed against mine. I felt his breath against my skin, his lips moving against mine, tasted his smile. 

He kissed me.

When he comes back, I’ll be the one kissing him.


	48. February 2nd, 2016

_\- Text thread with John -_

 

**received / 11:45**

Just got Rosie, on

my way back. Do you

want me to grab

something to eat?

 

_**typing...** _

_I just want you to_

_come back_

 

_**typing...** _

_Yes, if you wa-_

 

**sent / 11:46**

I just want you to

come back.

 

**received / 11:46**

Yeah, ok, I’ll

be there soon.

 

**received / 11:47**

I’ll just cook

something quick

when Rosie’s napping.

 

**sent / 11:47**

Are you staying all

day?

 

**received / 11:48**

Yeah, if that’s

alright with you.

 

**sent / 11:48**

Obviously.

 

**received / 11:49**

It’ll be easier to kiss

you if we’re in the same

flat.

 

**sent / 11:49**

Not that much of an

idiot after all.

 

**sent / 11:49**

Hurry up.

 

**received / 11:51**

Getting into the car

now. I’d like to

continue our

conversation too

when I’m back.

 

**sent / 11:51**

Yes. I thought so.

 

**received / 11:52**

I… I don’t want to

mess this up, Sherlock.

 

**sent / 11:52**

Neither do I.

 

_**typing...** _

_I love you._

 

**received / 11:54**

Driving now. I’ll be

there very soon.


	49. February 2nd, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Sherlock and John are now talking, I'm gonna use this format a bit more, I hope it won't be too confusing.  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos <3

_**-** Conversation saved to Sherlock’s MP before going to sleep -_

“Why did you go in there?”

“I wasn’t sure you… that it was what you…”

“You thought I didn’t enjoy kissing you?”

“I just…”

“Sherlock, maybe I didn’t make it clear enough, but I’ve been thinking about that kiss for a very long time.” 

“It doesn’t make it easier, it only means you had time to imagine what it’ll be like and be disappointed when it-”

“Sherlock, stop. Yes, I’ve imagined this kiss quite a lot, but I need you to trust me when I say that actually kissing you was much, much better than anything I’ve fantasized about.”

“John, you… You don’t have to pretend, I know I lack the experience.”

“Didn’t you like it?”

“That’s not the quest-”

“Sherlock. Did you like it?”

“I… Yes.”

“And the second one?”

“Obviously, yes.”

“Then what about a third one, so that you’ll stop worrying.”

“That… I mean, yes, I’d like that.”

“But first, let’s get on that sofa.”

* * *

“Is this alright?”

“Yes.”

“Sure? If there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable with, you-”

“No, no, everything is… I’m sorry, John.”

“Why?”

“I’m not good at this. I don’t know what to say or what to do, and I don’t want you to think I don’t care, I do, I truly do, but…”

“Hey, I meant what I said earlier, stop worrying about it all. We have all the time in the world.”

“But what if you decide it’s not… not what you imagined.”

“It’s even better, Sherlock. And I really don’t want to rush it, any of it. I know we didn’t actually talk about it, but this is important to me, and I’ll do anything to make it work.”

“It?”

“Us. What we are now.”

“And that being…”

“Whatever you want us to be.”

“I.. I want…”

“Yes?”

“What you said, in your message I mean. A relationship. A romantic one.”

“Good, that’s… very good.”

“John.”

“Yes?”

“Could we… I mean in such relationships, people tend to kiss each other quite frequently.”

“Do they now?”

“I… I’m fairly sure they do.”

“Come here then.”

* * *

“She’s finally asleep.”

“Is she usually that stubborn?”

“All the time, yes. I’m hoping it’ll get easier when she’s older.”

“Maybe she’s just not used to sleeping here.”

“Maybe, but she’ll have to get used to it.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“You’re thinking about moving back here.”

“I… hmm, yeah. I mean, not right now, but in the future, yeah. If that’s alright, of course.”

“Obviously, yes.”

* * *

“How do you think they knew, the other us.”

“Knew?”

“That we’d be kissing, today. The letters.”

“Oh. I’m not sure. But they’ll probably explain it soon enough.”

“Do you think they saw us, this morning?”

“I’ve stopped trying to understand how they’re doing all this a long time ago, John.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Still, I hope they’re not watching us all the time.”

“They’re us. We wouldn’t do it, so they probably aren’t either.”

“Make sense.”

“But I’m sure the next letters will be interesting.”

“I bet they will, yes.”

* * *

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course. We could see about that case you told me about, and maybe go out for dinner, if you want?”

“I’d like that, yes.”

“Maybe somewhere new?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a date then.”

“A date.”

“I think I’m gonna be telling myself that a lot, going on a date with Sherlock Holmes.”

“What should I say then, dating _you_.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know… I’ve seen you go on many different dates. You’ve done _this_ before.”

“Yes, I did. But none of them mattered like this one does. And I can’t wait to have dinner with you and not wonder if it’s just dinner or if kissing you at the end would be alright. Because the thing is, Sherlock, I’m going to kiss you at the end of that date.”

“That’s… I'd like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the journal's colors, 
> 
> silver_lock gave it a try in chapter 21:
> 
> blue : personal investigations (a bit unsure about that) => yes, a brand new journal just for the parallel universes  
> red : work investigations => Yes!  
> green : diary => it's actually the color reserved for everything John's related


	50. February 2nd, 2016

_\- Text thread with John -_

 

**received / 22:56**

I’m about to sleep,

but I wanted to say,

one more time because

apparently I can’t stop

myself, that I’m glad

we got to talk today.

 

**received / 22:56**

And kiss too, that

goes without saying.

 

**sent / 22:57**

I’m happy we did too,

John.

 

**received / 22:57**

I know there’s still a lot

we need to discuss, but

I meant what I said, we

have all the time in the

world now.

 

**sent / 22:58**

Could we, i mean, would

you mind if I continue to

use letters to tell you

some more … things

about me?

 

**received / 22:58**

Of course I don’t mind.

Letters got us this far

after all.

 

**sent / 22:58**

But it doesn’t mean I

don’t want to talk to you,

or be with you, or kiss

you.

 

**received / 22:59**

Don’t worry, I have a

feeling we’ll be doing

plenty of that.

 

**sent / 22:59**

I wish you didn’t have

to leave.

 

**received / 22:59**

I wish I didn’t too, but

this is something we can

discuss more seriously

soon, ok?

 

**sent / 22:59**

Yes.

 

**sent / 23:00**

Doesn’t change the fact

that you’re not here.

 

**received / 23:00**

I know. I’m sorry.

 

**sent / 23:01**

But I’ll be there early

tomorrow, and then we

have our date.

 

**sent / 23:01**

Which I’m deeply

nervous about in case

you hadn’t noticed.

 

**received / 23:02**

I am too. But just be

the regular you and it’ll

be just fine.

 

**sent / 23:02**

Being myself, didn’t work

that well in the past.

 

**received / 23:02**

It worked for me. I’ve been

wanting to go an a date with

you for a very long time.

 

**received / 23:03**

It’ll be just fine. Don’t

worry. Alright?

 

**sent / 23:03**

I’ll try.

 

**received / 23:04**

I’ll see you tomorrow,

goodnight Sherlock.

 

**sent / 23:04**

Goodnight, John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation next week so I probably won't be able to update every day. I'll try my best, but no promises...


	51. February 3rd, 2016

_\- Letter read as John reads his -_

Sherlock,

This letter was supposed to be about the fourth universe only, but considering the recent development in your own universe, I’m going to have to change the plan a little. So before going down to that universe, I want to talk to you about what’s happening inside your head right this moment.

You are not going to mess everything up.

This is important, Sherlock. It took me months to let it sink in, months where I should have been enjoying the little moments with John, but instead I spent them worrying about everything. I was certain I was going to ruin it all, that my lack of experience and social interaction in the past would push John away and make him realise he could find someone so much easier to deal with elsewhere. It was all I could think about. I was certain that each time he kissed me would be the last, and I almost convinced myself that it was for the better.

Until I broke down one night and John pulled me back together. He didn’t laugh at me, mock me or even call me an idiot. He simply held me. He stayed with me, lying in my bed fully clothed, and he let me read it all on his face. How much he was already feeling for me, how much he wanted this, wanted me. It was all right there, had been all along, but I had been too caught up in my own head that I had failed to see.

John Watson loves us, Sherlock. He loves us to a point that he will forget to be mad sometimes, to a point where he would jump in front of bullets for us, to a point where he would find a million ways to try and prove it.

You are not going to mess everything up, Sherlock, as long as you let yourself be loved by this far from ordinary man.

That being said I know you’re still going to need time to process everything that happened, and I expect the two of you to still talk about it all.

But in the meantime, another version of ourselves is living in his own universe, and that’s what I’m going to focus on now. I’m sure you’ve already guessed which major event in our past could have brought you and John closer. So yes, in the fourth universe, Sherlock and John finally find their way to each other after Sherlock’s return. John still meets Mary, but the night Sherlock comes back, he decides to go see him. Their first kiss is full of relief, standing on the pavement, and John leaves immediately after without saying another word. It takes them a full week before they face the fact that it happened, and another three days to get a second kiss. They don’t wait that long for the next one.

Some more important facts,

  * Mary reveals herself much sooner than in your universe. She tries to kill you but John stops her. She’s still currently in prison for her past crimes.
  * John moves back a whole two months after their second kiss.
  * They take their time.
  * Their nights are spent whispering secrets.
  * John proposed a full year after Sherlock came back.
  * They get married the next day, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Molly, Mike and Mycroft are the only guests.
  * They retire after John almost gets killed during a case.
  * Scientists do not discover gaps in space, we don’t send them letters, they’re happy just as they are.



You’ve probably now guessed why we are writing these letters, and why I’ve kept my universe for last. There is a high chance my next letter will be the last one, or at least I’m hoping it will, it would mean we’ve made the right choice doing all this.

Until then,

 

Sherlock Watson-Holmes

_Sussex, Yellow Garden,_

_February 23th, 2045_


	52. Author's note

Just a little note to say that I'm back, and that things will go back to normal starting Monday!

Also, this story is about to earn the explicit rating from now on, so there's that!

 

See you soon,

Pauline.


	53. February 3rd, 2016

_\- Sherlock’s blue journal -_

13:45

John didn’t asked to read my letter when I fold it back into the envelope. He didn’t showed me his either. It’s not hard to deduce the content of the said letter must have been as personal as mine.

We didn’t say much about it all morning, simply taking comfort in each other presence and letting _whatever_ is happening sink in. This other Sherlock make it seems all so easy and yet so out of reach at the same time. How am I supposed to trust myself for what is going to happen next. I  could ruin it all. I’ve done it before, so really, there’s nothing stopping me from doing it all over again.

Even now, as John is putting Rosie to sleep, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when he comes back. Should I kiss him? We haven’t yet. Not today. Is he waiting for me to do it? For me to make the first move? Or has he changed his mind already?

He hasn’t said anything about our date either.

Maybe he forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go again, a little earlier than I said in the previous note. I'm still working on the next one, but I should be able to post it tomorrow!


	54. February 3rd, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hasn't been betaed yet.

_ \- Letter read as Sherlock read his - _

 

John,

This letter won’t be a long one, after all, I’m sure you have more important things to do. But even if I know perfectly what you’re feeling right now, I also know a great deal of what must be going through your Sherlock’s head. As you surely know already, he’s most likely thinking he’s going to ruin everything, and I trust you to prove him wrong in your own ways, but there is something I want to warn you about.

Sherlock is going to try to go fast. And by fast, I mean he’s going to pretend he’s in control, that he wants things he’s not ready for yet, and as usual, he is going to be very persistent. Don’t let it foul you. My Sherlock almost got me, but in the end, we know them all too well, don’t you think?

Just in case I’m not clear enough, I’m talking about the physical aspect of your relationship; kissing and touching, and most of all, sex. This is the most important part. Sherlock is going to act as if he’s fine with it all, but as I’m sure you know, he’s never done any of  _ it _ . And no matter how confident he might sound, he needs time. And so do you. You must think I’m an ass, writing you this, because obviously you would never do anything without being one hundred percent it is alright, but when I say Sherlock is going to pretend it is, I really, really mean he’s going to be  good at it.

He is going to rush into it, too afraid that you might leave, and it could cost everything. 

So find a way, any way really, to talk about this first. A way that will allow Sherlock to be comfortable enough to tell you how he feels. And tell him too, all the things you let yourself imagine, all that you wish the two of you will do in the future. Now is not the time to be shy Watson, Sherlock needs to be reassured, needs to know you’re just as anxious but also curious about it all. 

That being said, don’t forget to enjoy these first few days. Trust me, I did.

 

_ John Watson-Holmes _

_ Sussex, Yellow Garden, _

_ February 23th, 2045 _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've missed yesterday chapter!  
> As you can see, this letter is introducing the whole sexual aspect of this fic, so this is a little reminder that this fic will be an explicit one, just in case this isn't something some of you enjoy.
> 
> See you tomorrow,  
> Pauline.


	55. February 3rd, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hasn't been betaed yet.

_\- Memory saved to Sherlock’s MP -_

 

I open the front, my entire body shivering but not from the cold air outside. I know I’m still too dazzled, know that I have to regain some posture or else John will smile that smile of his, and I will once again forget to pretend being mad. I’m not exactly sure how to describe the day that just passed, nor the too many emotions that threatened to overwhelm me more than once. And yet, I wish I could find a way, any way really, to make John stay just a few minutes more.

“Alright, I’m all set.”

I turn to face him, waiting by the door too now. Rosie is fast asleep in her carseat, and I look down at her, too afraid of what my face could let John know in this very instant.

“I had a very good day,” John continues, sounding closer now. “And a very good evening too.”

“I enjoyed it as well,” I reply, uncertain of what is expected of me.

I don’t look up when he takes a step closer, and it’s only when his fingers brush mine tentatively that I allow myself to meet his eyes again. Both the uncertainty and hope in them make me wants to cradle John into my arms and make him understand just how better everything could be if he just stayed.

“Sherlock, I…” He stops, and I hold my breath, too afraid of what he might say. Or worse, not say at all. He inhales sharply, hand shaking in mine. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all day.”

His eyes drop to my lips and I can’t hold back the quiet whimper low in my throat. I’m not certain who moves first, but the second he’s kissing me, I forget about everything else entirely. I only realise now just how much I’ve been craving _this_ , just this. The closeness, the intimacy. John’s warm hands and his compact body pressed against mine. His lips, his lips, his lips.

We both pull away for air, and I keep my eyes closed, letting the moment linger just a bit more. John smiles, and I marvel at sensation of feeling the stretch of his lips against mine,

“There’s more I have to tell you,” John whispers, and it takes a second more before I remember to focus back on what he’s saying.

“More letters,” I reply, having deduced his intention hours ago. John doesn’t reply but nods slowly, and once again too afraid of what might happen next, I lean in for another kiss to keep him here.

Just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like this story will have 63 chapters in total, so we’re approching this end....


	56. February 4th, 2016

_\- Text thread with Sherlock -_

 

**received / 01:46**

John? Are you

sleeping?

 

**sent / 01:48**

Not yet, no.

Everything’s

Alright?

 

**received / 01:49**

Yes. I just realised

I forgot to tell you

something.

 

**received / 01:49**

Something important.

 

**sent / 01:50**

I’m listening

 

**received / 01:51**

Earlier today,

I meant to say

but couldn’t. I

think it might be

easier this way.

 

**received / 01:52**

I feel strongly

about you, John.

Feelings that mean

a lot, ones that I never

felt for anyone before.

 

**received / 01:52**

I just needed to tell

you. It felt like it

had to be said.

 

**sent / 01:53**

Sherlock, I feel

strongly about you

too. Felt this way for

a very long time.

 

**sent / 01:53**

And I want to tell

you, face to face.

 

**sent / 01:53**

And kiss you too,

a lot more than today.

 

**received / 01:54**

Can you come by

tomorrow again?

 

**sent / 01:54**

There is no way I’m

not seeing you

everyday from now

on, Sherlock.

 

**sent / 01:55**

And so I should go

to sleep now. I’ll

be there first thing in

the morning. We could

go meet Greg for that

case he talked about.

 

**sent / 01:55**

Goodnight, Sherlock.

 

**received / 01:56**

Goodnight.


	57. February 5th, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long. I'm making this fic a priority again, we're so close to the end, it'll be too sad to make you wait so long between each chapters !
> 
> My beta hasn't corrected this chapter yet, so if you see any mistake, please tell me in the comments :)

_\- Letter for Sherlock -_

 

Sherlock,

Writing to you in the middle of the night is rapidly becoming a habit, you know. I really should be sleeping, Rosie always wakes up at sunrise, but I know I’ll probably be waking up much earlier, knowing I’ll be spending the day with you. Now is probably a good time to tell you that you were absolutely right all those years ago, and so I won’t apologize for how romantic this letter is going to sound like. I stand by each and every word I’m going to write down, and you should also know that I’m looking forward to telling them all out loud too.

I’m certain you noticed that I did not offer to let you read my letter. Just like you didn’t let me read yours. For that reason only, I’m guessing exactly what the other Sherlock wrote. It was only a matter of time before they breach that subject, and to be completely honest with you, I’m glad they have. John was very efficient in his letter, his advices clear and simple, but I think I needed to read them, to see the words on paper to let them all sink in.

He really knows you - the other you. I’m jealous of their relationship. They have no secrets. They tell each other everything. That’s what I want for us. I want to know all that’s going through your head each time you look at me for long minutes, not talking, not moving. I want to know what you see, what you read on me that’s so mesmerizing. You’ve always looked at me so differently than everyone else, and I always - always - loved being under your studying stare. It made me feel special, somehow. But yesterday, the two of us sitting at that table in a crowded restaurant, your stare made me feel as if we were completely alone. You’ve stopped hiding, Sherlock, and being able to read it all on your face too now makes me want to gaze into your eyes for hours to no end.

Maybe we could do just that some day. Or some night.

I only have to close my eyes to see the two of us lying in your bed, face to face, not speaking a word and yet telling the other everything.

Can you picture us too?

Christ, Sherlock, I want to kiss you. I can still taste your lips on mine right now, and all I want to do is run back to Baker Street and steal just one more kiss. I want to kiss you for the rest of my life, but I also want so much more. This is what this letter is all about, everything I always wanted to experience with you, everything that kept me awake at night, unable to think properly because you were right down the stairs, just a few rooms away.

To think now that it might all be possible is making it hard to breathe.

But I want to take it slowy, Sherlock. I want to know what you thought about during all those years too. I want you to feel comfortable telling me. I want to share it all with you, absolutely everything. So this letter is about opening up to you and letting you know some more of my deepest secrets.

(Once again, no apologies for how cheesy the rest of this letter is probably going to be.)

The first time I thought about kissing you was the first night we spent together, but I’m sure you figured this out already. This other John dared to do just that, and I probably will always regret not having tried. I’m starting to think you would have kissed me back.

(Can you imagine what our life might have been like if we had? Would it have been exactly as the one those others John and Sherlock lived? I like to think it wouldn't have been, that we will have lived our own personal adventures.)

The second time I thought about kissing you was two days later. The third a few hours after. Then, I’ve stopped counting. The fact is, Sherlock, I don’t think there has been a day where I haven’t thought about pressing my lips to yours. Not one. Including the two years I believed you dead. Some days, I couldn’t focus on anything else. It was all I could bring myself to think about, looking at you sitting in your chair, lying on the sofa or kneeling at a crime scene, and all I could do was wonder what our first kiss would taste like.

The first time I thought about touching you happened during a dream, and believe me or not, the very first night I slept in the upstairs bedroom. It sounds so sad, I know, but the truth is that I’ve wanted you from the moment our eyes met. You are so breathtakingly beautiful, Sherlock. I have never meet anyone like you, anyone being able to capture me mind and body. You were a proper git, rude to everyone - even me - and yet I wanted to listen to you for hours. I could have, you know. If you had asked me to sit down and listen as you talked about dead pigs and experiments involving eyeballs, I wouldn't have hesitated a second.

Just like if you had asked me to undress you and ravish every inch of your body. God, just thinking about it now is making me shiver with want. I’ve been trying to repress it all to a dark corner of my brain for so long now that letting it all out lately is overwhelming. You see, I had never let myself believe it could someday happen. That one day I could taste your skin and finally know.

That one day I could be yours in every sense of the word.

And I want to, God knows I want to. I want to discover what it’s like to love someone so passionately, with you. I want to kiss my way down your neck, your chest, stomach and thighs. I want to taste you, every part of you. I want to mark your skin, to let everyone know I was lucky enough to explore all of you. I want you to discover all of me too. I want to feel your eyes on my naked body, want to watch you as you read the stories behind each scars marking my skin. I want dark nights spent discovering each other, whispering our desires and fantasies in the intimacy of our bed.

I want us to get there, together, at our own pace.

I want us to bare our mind and body, and not be afraid.

With love,

John.


	58. February 5th, 2016

_\- Phone call transcript -_

**DATE** : 02/05/16

 **TIME** : 11:56 PM

 **DURATION** : 15:02

 **INCOMING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX67

 **RECEIVING CALLER ID:** (020) XXXX XX32

 

 

XX32: Sherlock? Everything’s alright?

XX67: I… I read your letter.

XX32: Oh.

_(Silence)_

XX32: Was it… alright?

XX67: _(clears his throat)_ It’s… Yes, it’s… I- _(sighs)_ I’m glad you gave it to me before leaving.

XX32: I thought it would be best, yes.

XX67: I don’t think I would have been able to go through today having read what you wrote in the morning.

XX32: _(hesitant)_ And that’s a good thing?

XX67: It is, yes.

XX32: Are you certain? I meant what I said, Sherlock. I want us to take our time, but as the same time, I need you to know how I feel, how I always felt. I really, really don’t want to ru-

XX67: I know, John. I’ve read your letters a dozen times already, and I’m probably going to need a dozen more to actually believe what I’m reading it’s happening. That you wrote those words.

XX32: I’m glad I did, Sherlock. With the day we just spent, being us, I want nothing more but to spend all the ones to come exactly the same way.

XX67: Without having to go to your flat at night.

XX32: Without having to go to my flat at night.

XX67: And… And you sleep in my bed.

XX32: And I sleep in our bed.

XX67: Can it be now? I want it now.

XX32: (laughing softly) Right now?

XX67: Yes.

(Silence)

XX32: Sherlock, I’d pack and come right now if I could. But that would be rushing into something I haven’t quite wrap my head around yet. I really, really don’t want to mess it all up by going too fast.

XX67: ( _sighing_ ) I don’t want that either.

XX32: I know you don’t. That’s why I’d like to read about your own thoughts on… sex.

( _Silence_ )

XX67: I don’t know… I don’t know if I can.

XX32: That’s alright. Forget about it. We have time, all the time in the world.

XX67: I want to try. This is something I thought about too. Often.

XX32: Yeah?

XX67: Yes. Having all the time in the world doesn’t matter if we’re not spending it together. Day and night.

XX32: I always knew you were a romantic.

XX67: ( _smiling)_ I blame you.

XX32: Good.


	59. February 8th, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long...
> 
> My goal is to finish this fic by the end of the week, and for that I need to write three epilogues and one last letter from the others John&Sherlock. Wish me luck!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter,  
> Pauline.

_Letter to John_

 

John,

I can’t thank you enough for your patience. When I started the first draft of this letter, I thought it could be like all the others, just my pen putting on paper all the thoughts dancing inside my head. But this is now the thirteenth version of my letter, and, I hope, the last one, too.

You said at the end of your letter that you want us not to be afraid, but the truth is that I am. Just writing this letter is scaring me to no end. I am not allowed to ruin what we’re slowly building. I can’t be the source of what goes wrong or else I would never forgive myself. I can’t let my inexperience get in the way, can’t let my fear of what’s all yet to come be in the way. But at the same time, I can’t remain silent. I can’t do that to you. You deserve to know, deserve to be trusted with these feelings I can’t seem to be able to control. You opened yourself up to me, bared your thoughts and left nothing to hide. How could I not do the same?

Your letter, John…

I reread it more time than I can count. I know every word by heart, and some even followed me into my dreams. You touched me, John, just like in your letter. You touched and kissed and held me, and I woke up missing you even more. If this is not my subconscious letting me know I’m ready, then I don’t know what to think. Have I been ready for months, years? All those mornings I woke up wishing you were in bed, my body aching for yours, were they signs of what my body already craves?

Is it just my mind that’s not yet quite there?

Am I building barriers again?

I think I am, John. Every time I allow myself, in plain daylight, to think about the two of us undressing the other, I lose all ability to breathe. I can’t allow myself to continue, can’t picture the two of us walking to my bed and lying there. It makes every inch of my body shiver, my legs go weak and my head spin. I can feel heat boiling down my abdomen, my body reacting and yet all the alarms ringing inside my head. And despite spending hours trying to understand each symptom, I can’t seem to figure it out.

I **want** you, John. Of that much I’m certain. I want to hold you back when you’re kissing me, make sure you won’t ever pull away. I want to let my hands slide down your back and settle there, on you, around you. You belong pressed against me, nowhere else. Watching you leave every evening, knowing you’ll be sleeping in a bed that’s not mine makes me boil with jealousy. Can you imagine, being jealous of sheets and pillows?

I am a mess, John. One that I’m not sure I can fix. One that I’m not sure you should bother with.

I wish I could tell you about the first time I thought about kissing or touching you. I wish it could be that simple, telling you how much it made me sick with want, watching you move around me and never being able to reach out. I wish I could tell you about all the times I stood outside your door, barely breathing and wondering what would happen if I just walked in. I wish I could tell you about all the times my body took over, all the times I took pleasure thinking about you and felt raw, guilty afterwards. But I can’t, John, because that would be ruining it, too, wouldn’t it? It isn’t normal to feel this way about someone else, to want to crawl inside their body and stay there forever.

How could this be sane, John?

How could I ever give you what you want if I don’t know what I have to offer?

I should stop here, should never even give you this.

I’m sorry.

Sherlock.


	60. Epilogue - One Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!

John unpacks Rosie’s last boxes of toys and lets out a contented sigh. Finally, it’s done. No more rides back to that dreadful flat, no more leaving Baker Street to sleep in an empty bed. No. Now there’s only one double bed he ever wants to sleep in and, lucky him, it’s just downstairs. Moving back had been strangely easy after all. Sherlock had kept insisting with quiet looks and lingering kisses each time they’d said goodbye, and eventually, John had realised he could learn how to be with Sherlock _and_ live with him at the same time. Sherlock, of course, had been more than pleased, and in the past few days, they had moved all of John’s belongings to 221B once more. John only feared the first nights with Rosie having to sleep in a new room, but he’s certain she’ll get used to her new environment pretty soon - Sherlock deduced so, even.

“John?”

“In here!”

Sherlock takes the stairs two at a time, walking in and saying, “Rosie fell asleep.”

John turns to smile at him, “Good.”

Automatically Sherlock comes to claim a kiss, their lips meeting in a familiar moan. John’s smile grows wider, letting Sherlock take everything he needs from the touch. He knows for a fact he still needs reassurance, looking for it each time their eyes, hands or mouths meet. And so John gives it to him, slowly allowing Sherlock to properly realise he’s here to stay and for good this time.

“Everything’s done in our bedroom?” he asks when they part.

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, eyes shining but his teeth worrying at his lower lip.

“Our first night,” John whispers, knowing this is exactly what’s going through Sherlock’s head. “I can’t wait to fall asleep with you.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply, kissing him again, more urgently this time. Of course their first night in the same bed would worry him. After all, they still haven’t talked about Sherlock’s last letter, despite John’s numerous attempts to do so. Somehow, Sherlock always finds a way to escape it, with kisses most of the time, but also by simply disappearing from the room with some weak excuse. John hasn’t said anything, letting him walk away with it. It’s obvious forcing Sherlock to talk wouldn’t work, and if he’s still not ready to talk about it, then John can wait. 

“But dinner first, ok?” he says after yet another kiss.

Sherlock nods, eyes searching his for a long moment before walking out of the room, taking John’s hand in his on the way. He doesn’t let go until they’re in the kitchen, and then only because John points out it might be difficult to make dinner with only one hand. Sherlock goes to sit on one of the chairs then, John considering ordering takeaway for more kissing time, but decides that Sherlock might just need a bit of time to think. He sets up to make pasta quietly, glancing now and then to Rosie and Sherlock. 

Byt the time they get around to eating dinner, Sherlock monopolises the conversation with a new cold case he’s been trying to solve and John listens attentively, knowing when to ask questions and when to keep quiet. Their eyes meet over the table the entire time, and when Sherlock stands up only to go lie on the sofa and close his eyes, John doesn’t say anything. He leaves the dishes for tomorrow, taking care of Rosie and going through her bedtime routine while chatting with her. 

He’s surprised to find the sofa empty when he comes back downstairs, and even more when he finds Sherlock already in bed. 

“Tired?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, not meeting his eyes.

“I’ll be right there,” John says, going to the bathroom and making quick work of his own routine. 

He slips under the cover barely fifteen minutes later, letting the realisation that this is now _their_ bed sink in. Sherlock is lying very still next to him, staring up and barely breathing. John laughs quietly, turning to his side and reaching for him. “Come on,” he says softly.

Sherlock complies immediately, pressing their bodies together and melting against him. John lets him find the position he wants, leaving kisses here and there and enjoying the small shivers running up and down Sherlock’s arms. When Sherlock finally decides that he’s best with his back pressed to John’s chest, he stops and breathes out deeply.

“Alright?” John asks.

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, taking his arm to slide it around his waist. “I know you want to talk about it.”

John frowns, having not expected Sherlock to bring the letter up so suddenly. He presses a soft kiss against his nape, holding him just a little tighter. “Only if that’s what you want, too.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Sherlock replies after a moment longer. “I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“If it makes it any easier,” John says carefully, “I’ve known since I read your letter what to reply.”

“But you didn’t write another letter,” Sherlock says.

“I know. I wanted to say it out loud,” John smiles, kissing his shoulder. “Letters helped, but it’s time we actually talk, don’t you think?”

Sherlock remains silent, one of his fingers playing with John’s hands.

“What would you have said?”

John closes his eyes, breathing in deeply.

“Simply that my legs go weak when we’re on a case and you look at me as if I hold all the answers. My entire body shivers when you stand close to me, sometimes placing a helping hand down my back or grabbing my arm to lead me somewhere. My head spins when I think of kissing you, threading my fingers through your hair and pressing our bodies together. Heat boils down my abdomen when I imagine you naked underneath me, moaning my name over and over again.” John stops, heart now pounding. “I want to crawl inside your body too, Sherlock, and stay there so that you won’t ever think of letting me go.” John kisses him again, breathing Sherlock in. “So you don’t need to worry about all those feelings because, you see, they’re making me just as helpless as you.”

A long minute passes before Sherlock turns around in his arms, looks directly into his eyes and whispers, “Are you scared?”

“Yes,” John replies honestly. “I’m scared I’ll be the one that ruins it all, the one that will not be able to make you experience pleasure and passion and all that you deserve.”

“You already are making me feel all of this,” Sherlock says, lacing their fingers together. “And I am never, never letting you go, John.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

John leans in for a kiss, relaxing a little.

“We can’t let ourselves rush into any of it, Sherlock.”

“I know.”

Another kiss; soft.

“I love you,” John breathes. “And even though I know this fear won’t ever truly go away, I want us to feel so desperate for the other that we can’t wait a second more.”

“What if it never comes?” Sherlock asks.

John looks into his eyes, “Do you think it won’t?”

Sherlock shakes his head, “No.”

“Then we wait,” John says. “We discover each other, slowly. Alright?”

“Yes,” Sherlock smiles. “I love you.”


	61. Epilogue Two - One Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, you're not dreaming.... I'm finishing this fic today, so get ready for the last three chapters!

Sherlock looks himself over one last time in the mirror. He knows this is probably ridiculous, that John would roll his eyes and drag him away, but he can’t help himself. They’ve been working towards this for the past month now, slowly, just as they agreed, and Sherlock has to say he is now more than impatient than ever to take the last step. Still, it doesn’t mean he isn’t deadly nervous about it all. John had been nothing more sweet and loving these past four weeks, the two of them going to bed together every night and letting their hands and mouths discover the other inch by inch. He can still remember the first time John’s finger had closed around his erection, how quickly pleasure had taken over and the burning look in John’s eyes long afterwards. There had been many more of that after, Sherlock gradually working his way to touching John too and bringing him over the edge. Now that is something Sherlock knows he won’t ever get used to: the moans and shivers and the way his name sounded on John’s panting breath.

So really, tonight is only taking the next step, the one Sherlock has been dreaming about for years and even more so in the past few weeks. He knows John is just as eager and nervous, and that he’s probably thinking about it right now too, and it makes his own anticipation build up. 

“Sherlock, love, are you in there?”

Sherlock puts his shirt back on before John comes in, blushing just a little when John’s eyes meet his.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock says, turning to face away from the mirror. 

John shakes his head, smiling softly at him. “Come here, you,” he says, pulling him in for a tender kiss. Sherlock relaxes into the touch, letting his own hand slide down John’s back. He loves how comfortable it all feels now, after barely a month of being this. He loves how his fingers automatically find their place on John’s hips, how his chest rises and falls in harmony with John’s breathing, how their kisses still feel like the very first one, exploring, daring, questioning. 

“Everything alright?” John asks in a murmur.

Sherlock nods, “Yes. Bed, please.”

John doesn’t need to be told twice, leading them both to their bed and letting Sherlock lie down first. He crawls on top of him slowly, hands pulling Sherlock’s shirt up his chest and over his head, mouth kissing every patch of skin on the way. Sherlock exhales loudly, legs falling apart to let John settle there. He shivers at the feeling of John’s hardening cock, now gently pressed against his own. His hands fall all the way to John’s arse, adding a bit more pressure to the touch.

“John,” he breathes, not sure what exactly he wants to ask. 

“I know,” John says, kissing the corner of his lips. “I know, love.”

Sherlock closes his eyes, his entire body shuddering. This is exactly why it had been so easy, because John knows. Always has. He knows and loves Sherlock so deeply that every touch of his hands and mouth and body makes it all so natural. 

“I love you,” Sherlock whispers because he can’t recall having said so today, because John needs to know that he’s there too, all the way.

John smiles down at him, leaning in for another long, sweet kiss. Sherlock abandons himself to him after that. He moans at the first touch of their naked bodies pressed together, moans a little louder at the first contact of John’s lubed finger against his entrance, cries out when John finds his prostate. After, it all gets blurry. Pleasure, burning and building, takes control. He holds on to John’s shoulder at the first thrust, buries his face against John’s neck as their bodies slowly adjust to each other. He can only focus on John’s panting breath, on the sweet words he whispers directly against this ear, on each thrust bringing him closer and closer and clo-

“John!”

He can do nothing else but hold on, fingers leaving marks on John’s shoulder for certain. Pleasure seems to last forever, John rocking into him a few more time before he’s spilling inside him, crying out Sherlock’s name. Sherlock gathers him into his arms, finding that all of John is shaking now. He kisses his temple softly, hands roaming over his back. He doesn’t say anything when John holds him a bit harder, nor when he feels something wet against his shoulder. 

He knows.


	62. Epilogue Three - One Year

John runs for the door, climbing up the stairs as quickly as he can and rushing to the bedroom. It only takes a second to find the box on the bedside table and he grabs it before running back downstairs. Harriet is laughing, waiting for him in the car, apparently very amused by the situation.

“Stop,” John says, glaring at her. “And drive.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t be late,” she says.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who forgot the rings.”

She laughs harder and John can’t help but smile, too. Of course today would have gone entirely not as expected. For starters, they had woken up way too late, which explains why they had left without the rings, really. It’s not as if they hadn’t spent most of the night whispering about all that was going to happen today, or had “not married sex” as Sherlock called it one last time. And yet, it had been Mrs Hudson, worried they weren’t coming to get her, that had come to wake them up just two hours before the ceremony.

“The guests will understand,” Harriet says, stopping at a red light. “I’m sure most of them bet that something like this would happen.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” John says.

After choosing Lestrade as his best man, John had the pleasure of listening to him talk about all the possible ways that the day could go. Surprisingly - or not - Sherlock had chosen Mycroft as his best man. Meetings at Baker Street to plan the wedding had been something, that much was certain. But still, they had managed to organise the whole thing so that it would be a perfect reflection of themselves. The venue was a simple one, the guest list composed of close friends and family only and the party in one of Mycroft’s estates in the countryside. Really, John couldn’t have dreamt of anything more perfect. At least, if he managed to get there in time.

“ETA: two minutes,” Harriet exclaims, speeding up.

John forces himself to breathe out slowly. He checks his suit one last time, hands shaking as he tightens his tie. He looks back at the road just in time to see Lestrade waving at them, pointing to an empty parking place just across the road. Harriet parks quickly and they get out to meet him.

“Is he waiting already?” John asks.

“The guests just sat down and, yes, he’s already there,” Lestrade says, placing a blue flower in his suit pocket. “There, better.”

“Good luck, baby brother,” Harriet says, winking as she goes inside.

“Ready?” Lestrade asks, both hands on his shoulders.

John exhales loudly. “Ready.”

They walk to the door together, Lestrade going in first. John counts to five before following. His eyes find Sherlock immediately, tall and breathtakingly beautiful. He doesn’t look away all the way towards him, finding that his hands are no longer shaking. He knows exactly what he’s doing, has been waiting for this day for a very long time, in fact. He has no reason at all to be nervous. This is the rest of his life, and he’s more than eager to get started.

“Dearly beloved…”

Sherlock leans close as the mayor makes his speech, “Really John, forgetting the rings.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Who asked for another go last night?” 

“Boys!”

Mrs Hudson is glaring at them from the front row. Mummy Holmes, Rosie on her lap, is smiling widely next to her. John casts them an apologetic smile and focuses back on the mayor. Sherlock reaches for his hand, lacing their fingers together just as they’re about to say their vows.

“Sherlock,” John says, nothing having felt so right in his life. “I’ve thought long and hard about what I wanted to tell you today. It feels as if everything has already been said, in letters or in whispers. But I realised it doesn’t matter if it’s all been said before. I love you, and I want to tell you so every day for all the days to come. You saved me a lifetime ago, it feels like, and you keep on saving me with every kiss and touch and look. You gave me a life I never dared to imagine, and I want to spend the rest of it with you, with cases, experiments, chases and stakeouts, but also with dates and evenings in our chairs and dancing in the middle of the night. I love you, Sherlock Holmes, and I plan on loving you for a very, very long time.”

Sherlock is holding his hand tightly as he says,

“John, even if you forget the rings on our wedding day, you are by far the most brilliant human being I have ever had the incredible luck to meet.” 

John chuckles, all of their guests joining in. A small, private smile blooms on Sherlock’s lips, and John loves him just a little harder.

“I asked you once if happiness always feels this way, fragile and uncertain, as if it could go away in the blink of an eye,” Sherlock continues. “Do you remember your answer?”

John nods, swallowing around the tightness in his throat.

“You told me that, yes, it was all fragile and uncertain, but not for us. Because we deserve this, because we fought our way to each other for years and when all had seemed lost, we found our way back. You told me there was nothing fragile about us or the love we shared, nothing uncertain about the future we are heading towards together. Because you’re you and I’m me, and that’s all that matters. So, as I said, you are absolutely brilliant, John Watson, and I am the luckiest person on earth to be loved by you.”

John leans in and kisses him as soon as he’s finished, sobs echoing in the room. 

“I love you,” he whispers against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock smiles. “I love you.”

Lestrade clears his throat next to him, “I think you were supposed to wait a bit for that.”

Everyone is laughing again, Sherlock rolling his eyes but blushing just a little, too. John finds that he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.


	63. March 17th, 2049

“John! John!”

“What is it?”

“Look what I’ve found.”

“Oh. How long has it been there do you think?”

“Considering the colour of the paper and the fact that we haven’t checked for decades, a very long time.”

“Well, what are you waiting for, open it!”

 

 

_Dear Sherlock and John,_

_As promised, this is our last letter._

_Don’t worry, it won’t be long, the two of you don’t need us anymore. We said we would tell you about our universe, and so this is why we are now writing and sending this letter to you._

_We couldn’t have begun with this universe or it would been too much to bare._

_See, in our universe, John kissed me the very first night we spent together. In the middle of the stairs, while we were still laughing. He kissed me then, and we’ve faced all that happened next together._

_You can imagine how we felt when we discovered there was a universe where another version of ourselves weren’t together. Not yet, at least. We had to do something. The mere thought of not having been together all this time, of still not being together, was too much. If we had begun with telling the both of you that you could have all this all along, we’re not sure it would have helped._

_Now, there is absolutely no need to think more about that fact. You two found each other, and in the end, it is all that matters._

_We wish you all the happiness in the world,_

_Sherlock and John Watson-Holmes_

_Sussex, Yellow Garden,_

_April 1st, 2045._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends!
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience with this story, for all the kudos and comments. I am so glad to have finally finished it, and I hope you enjoyed the journey as much as I did.
> 
> Love,  
> Pauline.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @[beenchantd](http://beenchantd.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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